And It All Comes Crashing Down
by Moony-Blues
Summary: Even ten years after scattering Tris's ashes, Tobias is trying to figure out how to live life without her. He has professional success and still keeps his close circle of friends, but he still struggles with her ghost. Christina shows up at his apartment late one night, with Tris in her car, and he prays that it's a dream. Because losing her again could destroy him. Xpost from AO3.
1. Chapter 1

Tobias

Some days, I feel a lot older than I know I really am. Today is one of those days.

I've come to the old Dauntless headquarters, just this last time, to remember. The final faction memorial is tomorrow, doubling as the commencement for the final phase of the city's rebuilding, and the remnants of the Dauntless will likely all be here, saying goodbye one last time. But I'm here today, before the sun, because I need to remember everything I have overcome, and then put it all behind me for good.

I need to finally find a way to move on from the shadows that still linger.

No. I won't think about her right now.

I reach out my hand and touch the cool stone of the walls of the Pit. I close my eyes and let my thoughts drift as I take a step to the left, letting my heart guide me where my mind can't. As I walk through my old home, the memories overlay reality. I remember the crush of bodies on a Friday night in the Pit, people gathering together to unwind and get a little crazy letting off steam. I remember the echoing clamor of hundreds of voices. I remember reveling in the abandon and noise, so unlike the tightly controlled structure of the home in which I spent my childhood. I learned how to have fun here.

I see the ghost of a blonde transfer initiate duck into the abandoned tattoo parlor on the left.

No. There will be time for that later.

I force myself to walk again. Before very long, I'm at the door of my old apartment. I know it's all but empty now, but I still step inside. This was the place where I got to explore the person I wanted to be, needed to be, not the person my father so desperately attempted to carve into his image. I see the room through the memories that are so old that I feel like they happened in another life. The cot isn't truly rusted and bare. The walls aren't actually empty. There isn't really an inch of dust on the dresser.

I'm not really waking up to find her gone.

No. I've awakened alone enough in the last 12 years.

I leave my old apartment and wander through corridors, climbing up rickety and rusted stairs until I'm standing in front of the room where I relived my fear landscape so many times. The black box I dropped the last time I was here is still on the floor, an unused syringe of the Dauntless serum still inside. The serum is long past its expiration, and the machinery doesn't work, but I still have to struggle against the compulsion to walk through the exercise again. I remember my final trip through the simulation, when the fear of the man who raised me turned into the fear of becoming him.

Maybe it's been long enough that I'm not still terrified of living my life without her…

No. I don't need the simulation to know that answer.

Again, I let my feet move on their own back down the stairs, down through the corridors into the belly of the Dauntless headquarters. This time, I stop in the cafeteria. The tables are still here, by some small miracle, and I stand at the end of the one that I usually shared with the only real friends I ever had. I discovered my sense of humor, such as it is, at this table. I smile just a little, remembering Zeke's loud and boisterous voice as he boasted about something particularly stupid he'd done and survived. I made real friends here. Some of them are still with me.

I scan the rest of the room, eyes falling on one table in particular, where the transfer initiates used to sit.

No.

I move my feet again, out the door and down more corridors, to the initiate training room. Unlike the cafeteria, there's nothing left here. The targets, chalk boards, and training gear were removed long ago, most of it appropriated by the city police force when they were trying to get themselves off the ground right after the revolution. But I remember where everything used to be and my feet carry me to stand exactly where I did that day long ago when I threw those knives at the only other Abnegation-born initiate I'd ever known.

She was the bravest when she was being selfless.

No!

I turn around, knowing that there's one last place that I have to see before the demolition. As I walk, I remember how confusing the place was when I was an initiate. I got lost more than once, but I never admitted it. I spent a lot of time just walking, learning the place, developing the understanding that separation doesn't necessarily lead to independence. Separation from your past is easy; independence must be earned and fought for, a struggle that is never easy. It isn't long before I find myself standing at the edge of the net. It's just a few strips of material clinging to the metal bars that used to hold it in place. It was in this room that I started to understand that there was an entire world that existed beyond my experiences.

A grey blur drops through the hole and lands awkwardly in the middle of the net.

NO!

I struggle for a moment to control my lingering grief, still strong even though it's been nearly 13 years. I rein it in like I do my rage and my fear. It is a demon I control, not the other way around.

I may have made a mistake in coming here. I may have fooled myself into thinking that I needed this trip down memory lane so I could finally let it all go. Instead, it reinforced that there are certain things from which a man cannot divorce himself. They stay with you and shape every decision, every thought, and every opinion.

For as little of my life as I actually spent in this place, just two and a half years out of more than thirty, it's surprisingly painful to be here. It's more than the place where I learned my own strengths and became a man who is not cowed by his own fears. It's more than the place that taught me that I don't have to be a product of my own upbringing. It's more than the friendships forged and friends lost.

It's her. We had so little time together. Those few months felt like an entire lifetime when I was living them. But everything about her, everything that we did together, everything she gave to me—these are the things that make months feel like years and years feel like lifetimes. And it's her memory that haunts this place most, at least for me.

"Four?" I turn and see Zeke. "What are you doing down here?" he asks.

I ponder my response carefully for a moment, not wanting to reveal the depths to which my grief still runs, even after all this time. Then I realize that he's here to do the same thing I am doing.

"Remembering," I say quietly.

Zeke nods his head. He knows what this place means to me, to all of us who knew her, to all of us who were Dauntless in those last few days. I'm not surprised that he's here. It holds similar significance for him.

He crosses to where I stand and claps a hand on my shoulder. We say nothing to one another. We just stare at the net for a while, undoubtedly pondering different things, but lost in the past together, nonetheless. We both turn at the same time to climb back up to the Spire and out into the rest of Chicago.

"When is the memorial?" Zeke asks as we emerge on the roof.

"Tomorrow morning, ten o'clock. The demolition crews are coming in soon to set the charges for the implosion." I squint into the midmorning sun. I was down there longer than I intended.

"Who's speaking?"

"Christina."

Zeke raises an eyebrow at me and I lower my head.

"I can't. I wrote the speech, but I can't get through it without remembering…" I let my voice trail off. I can't bring myself to admit my weakness, even to my closest friend.

"She really was the one for you, wasn't she?" Zeke's voice is soft, filled with a thoughtfulness that doesn't fit his boisterous nature.

"Yeah," I say quietly through a constricted throat. "I think she was."

Zeke nods solemnly. He's tried several times in the last ten years to introduce me to a larger group of friends, mostly girls, probably hoping that I'd be able to find someone who could give me what he has with Shauna. I even had decent relationships with a couple of them, before they got tired of waiting for me to fall in love with them.

"She wouldn't want you to be alone, you know," Zeke says. I'm sure he has a list of women I haven't disappointed yet who are anxious to take a shot with one of the famed former Dauntless. At least he'd stopped trying to whore me out to blondes years ago.

"Since when are you so perceptive?" I ask with a raised eyebrow. I hope that I can distract him from a touchy subject by giving him a chance to be his charming, braggadocios self.

"I've always been perceptive," he says. "I just like to keep it under wraps. Can't have people thinking I'm sensitive or something." He waggles his eyebrows in good-natured humor, and for a moment I think he's taken the bait. "Don't change the subject. She wouldn't want you to spend your life moping, and we both know it."

I take a few steps away from Zeke, not too close to the edge of the roof, but just enough to try to get a little distance.

"I know she wouldn't want that," I say, trying to make my voice sound firmer than it felt. "And you know that I don't mope. I'm too busy." I grinned at him, again, hoping that he would let me lighten the mood. Zeke grunts, his version of a noncommittal comment, and I know that my attempts at banter haven't worked. "I guess the fact that we're finally burying the place has just brought it all to the surface again."

"Do I even need to call bullshit on that one, man?" says Zeke.

"What's that supposed to mean?" I give him a hard look, unable to keep my irritation from showing on my face. I'm getting tired of serious Zeke. It seems like that's all he ever is, anymore.

"It means that it's always been on the surface. It's never gone away. You've ignored it, sure. You lose yourself in your work, especially since you've taken over the restoration project, so that you're constantly busy. You say you've put it behind you, and I think that you want to believe that enough that you've fooled yourself. But I think you and I both know that you're still living in that morgue."

I don't reply. A part of me knows that he's right.

* * *

The next morning, I'm surprised to find the memorial is overcrowded by the time I arrive. I recognize a lot of faces in the crowd. Most are Dauntless, but there are a number of people present who were in all of the factions. And there are far more people here who I don't recognize at all. I'm lucky that my position as project manager for the city's government ensure that I have a seat on the stage, because what was to be a small memorial is now standing-room only.

It's been ten years since the revolution ended and the people of Chicago were allowed to rejoin the rest of the world. We've spent that time as a city rebuilding, starting with the most heavily damaged areas and working sector-by-sector, turning the city into something better than it had been, something it should have been from the beginning. We were also determined to prove to the rest of the country that there was a better way of living, and completely rebuilding the city from the ground up together seemed to be a good way to do that.

As the project manager for the restoration project, it was easy to keep this section of the city at the bottom of the list as the plan has progressed. The Dauntless sector was empty for most of the conflict and was largely left untouched, except by time. Other areas had priority. I knew I wasn't going to be able to keep this day from happening at all. But, the part of me that knows that I'm still stuck in a morgue 12 years ago also knows that seeing the Dauntless sector demolished and rebuilt means that I can't continue to hide. I will be expected to move on now, expected to let her go completely. And if refusing to do that even now means that I am a coward, then I'm not so sure that I don't deserve that criticism.

I try to pay attention as Christina gives the speech that I wrote. Attentiveness is not easy this morning. I can't swallow past the lump in my throat, and I clench my jaw to keep the grief from tearing through me again. It's been long enough that this should be easier than it is. I have no explanation for why, after nearly 13 years without her, this day hurts with the same intensity as the day I lost her. It just does.

Christina finishes the speech and we all turn around to watch as the charges inside Dauntless headquarters detonate. The Spire drops through into the Pit, a cloud of dust and debris rising around it. I manage to keep the tears at bay through the entire thing, but that seems like a superhuman effort.

As I'm walking off the stage, the mayor, Johanna Reyes, gives me a knowing look. I was working as her assistant when I was going through the worst parts of the grief right after the revolution ended. She knows what this day means for me, probably more than any other person in attendance except my closest friends. She walks to me and lays her and on my shoulder. I nod at her, not needing words to communicate to her how much I appreciate that small gesture.

I walk with Zeke, Shauna, Cara, Christina, and Caleb to a nearby parking lot. My truck is there, and I assume the others have parked there as well. No one says much. I don't think any of us care to say anything right now. We stop together on the sidewalk and share one last look around. The girls hug, Cara and Christina bending down to meet Shauna in her wheelchair. Zeke and I clap shoulders. I nod at Caleb, who still is both not enough and too much of his sister at the same time. He nods back and I think he understands.

* * *

Several weeks after the memorial, I'm finally trying to settle down into bed after a particularly long day at the office. I spent a few hours at the gym this evening to relieve some of the stress that I've learned is an invariable part of being a public servant. It's enough that I've even started going to the range with Zeke and Amar on the weekends, overcoming my post-revolution aversion to firearms.

I'm usually in bed and asleep long before now, but tomorrow is a day off, so I don't worry about the lateness of the hour. Just as I pull the blanket over my shoulders, I hear a knock on my door. I glance at the clock and groan, rolling off the bed. I hope that whoever has decided to drop by is important enough to me to justify dropping by uninvited at one o'clock in the morning. I grab a t-shirt from the basket of laundry next to the couch as I cross the room to answer the door. I only manage to get the t-shirt half on when I open the door.

Christina gapes at me in the hallway. I can't help but notice the tops of her ears turning pink. I know she doesn't mean anything by it. We foolishly tried to go down that particular road several years ago. To say that it didn't turn out well would be an understatement. I stand back from the door to let her in, but she grabs my hand and tries to drag me out of the apartment.

"Christina, wait a second! What's going on?" I ask her, trying to be as calm as possible.

"No, there's no time for explanations," she says. "Just come with me. I need your help."

I look at her, trying to muster as much patience as I can, which turns out to be less than one would think considering my chosen career path. I try not to let my frustration be obvious, but her reluctance to tell me what's happening is starting to get on my nerves.

She just shakes her head, grabs me by the hand, and tries again to pull me put the door.

"Wait, Christina," I say, pulling my hand from her grasp. "At least let me put some shoes on, okay?"

"Hurry! There isn't much time!"

"I gathered that much." I look into her eyes and try to read her expression, something I've never really been good at, no matter how much I've practiced over the years. She's anxious about something, nervous, and scared. But, considering the fact that I have no talent for reading people, I could be completely wrong about all of that. I've known her long enough and know her behaviors enough that I think that I'm right, though.

I pull on my gym shoes and grab my jacket of the hook on the back of my apartment door. It's spring time outside, but there's still a bit of nip in the air after dark. Winter doesn't quite want to move on yet. I can understand why it might not want to.

Christina drags me out of the door and down the hall to the elevator, pulling me by the hand for the entire length of the hall. I live on the fourth floor; any higher was too high for my aversion to heights and there weren't any residential spaces in the first three floors. In the lobby, I can see that Christina's car is parked illegally in front of the glass doors, and there's someone in her front passenger seat. I can't really see much of the person from where I am now, but the street light sheds enough light that I can see that the passenger is female.

A blonde female.

I groan, more than just slightly frustrated at Christina. I'm pissed now. I stop walking about halfway between the lobby entrance and the elevators and cross my arms over my chest.

"Christina, if this is some lame attempt to set me up with a look-alike damsel in distress, then you can go to hell."

She turns around, tears in her eyes, and doesn't say anything. She motions for me to stay, as if I actually care to go out there and be introduced to whoever it is that she's brought for me to meet. Without a word, she hurries to the passenger door of her car, practically running at a full sprint. The car door opens and Christina helps the girl stumble out of the car, but Christina is still blocking my sight line. I sigh and turn around to start back toward the elevator.

Fuck this.

I'm just pressing the elevator button when Christina and the woman stumble into the lobby with a lot of clatter. I take a deep breath, determined not to look back.

"Tobias?"

I stop moving. My heart jumps into my throat. I might even have stopped breathing. I pray that I'm dreaming, because if this is real it could destroy me.

I know that voice almost better than I know my own.

It's haunted my nightmares for more than 12 years.


	2. Chapter 2

_**Tris**_

It's been so long. Or has it? I can't remember. What was I thinking? Where am I? What's happening to me?

Fear is the only thing that I know for sure is real. I live in constant abject terror, but I don't know why I'm afraid. I can't remember. I can't think. I can't move. I can't see.

I can't remember.

There was something I was supposed to do, something that's important, something…

I can't remember. And the more I grasp at that thought, the farther it drifts away from me.

The shadows around me begin to shift. Am I waking up this time? Or am I still dreaming? I can never tell anymore.

I open my eyes and stare up at a flat gray ceiling. At first, I think that I'm strapped down, but I lift my head and glance down at my hands to see that they're free. As I sit up, I feel the room spin. The dizziness is worse this time.

This time? Was there a time before? Why am I surprised that I'm not restrained? I can't remember.

There's a door in front of me. On weak and wobbly legs, I cross the room to stand in front of it. I try the handle; it's unlocked. Curious, I open it, wondering what's on the other side and if it's different from before.

Before? Have I been here already? Why am I shaking? Wait, what was I trying to remember again?

On the other side of the door, there's only one way to go, straight ahead down a hallway that looks like it could stretch forever. I walk forward, glancing left and right as I progress, looking for other doors that I know are there.

Wait, how do I know that? How do I know what? What have I forgotten?

I stop and press a hand to my forehead. The dizziness is abating, but the confusion persists. I have to remember something. I look up and it's almost as if the hallway has changed in front of me, ending abruptly and opening out into a cavernous room. A table is just a few paces in front of me. Two bowls sit on the table, one holding a small piece of cheese and the other holding a knife.

I know that I've seen this before, but I can't remember where or how or when. How do I know this?

A man stands in front of me. I feel like I should know him, but I can't remember why. He's tall, with broad shoulders and well-defined muscles that I can see even through his shirt. His dark hair is short, and his dark blue eyes are deep set. His lips, the lower one full and the upper one spare, are set into a smirk. There's a scar on his chin. I resist the urge to touch the scar.

Why do I want to touch this man? Who is he? How can I know him if I haven't seen him before? What was I trying to remember?

"Choose."

His lips don't move, but I know that the deep, rumbling voice belongs to the man in front of me. I can't remember what I'm supposed to choose. I look down, and there's a handgun on the table now.

Now? What was there before?

"Choose."

The voice is more insistent now, almost impatient. I pick up the gun, look back at the man. He's different now. His eyes are red, his long fingers end in claws, and his mouth is open to show sharp teeth like fangs. He's poised to attack, and I know that he means to kill me.

"Choose!"

I don't have time to be confused now. I don't have the luxury of trying to remember what I have forgotten. I raise the gun without thinking.

And I pull the trigger.

* * *

I feel a prick in my arm and another on my neck. I hear voices around me, voices that I recognize but don't know.

"Reaction time in that last simulation was identical to the last fifty times we've run it. We've hit a wall trying to change the association. It's time to adjust the formula again."

"If we don't manage to change the associative reactions to the stimuli, it may not be enough to adjust. We may have to start over again with the memory reprogramming."

"The boss isn't going to be happy about that. We've all but destroyed her original memories. And the last reprogramming didn't seem to affect anything. The point of the experiment is to change associative reaction, not build new associative reactions from scratch."

I try to understand, but the words fade almost as soon as they hit my ears.

I can't remember. There was something I was supposed to remember. Why can't I remember?

Lights begin to flash overhead, bright enough that I see them even though my eyes are closed. At least, I think my eyes are closed. I try to open them and I'm relieved when I see grey ceiling panels moving above me. Am I moving? Where am I going?

I try to lift my head, but can't. My arms are so heavy. Why does my body feel so week?

How long have I been here? What was I trying to do? What was I trying to remember?

The movement stops and the edges of my vision begin to fade to black. I try to panic. I can't dream again. I can't go back there.

Wait, why can't I go to sleep?

Where am I?

Who am I?

What was I trying to remember?

* * *

I hear murmurs around me, soft voices that I can't quite distinguish from one another, much less understand in any way. These sound like new voices, not like the ones before. That makes me happy, I think, but I don't understand why.

Why should I be happy about hearing new voices? And why am I happy that one of them sounds angry? What was I supposed to remember?

I hear three loud bangs, and even in the haze I know that someone has fired a gun.

Wait, why do I know the sound of gunfire? And why am I not terrified like I was before?

As has been the case for as long as I can remember, I struggle with my confusion. Have I ever not been confused and afraid? I feel something warm under my legs and under my shoulders, and then I feel nothing behind my back and head.

Did someone just pick me up? Why would someone pick me up? I can't remember. What am I trying to remember?

Someone whispers to me to hang on, that we're almost out. Another person says that there isn't much time. We have to move.

Hang on to what? Almost out of where? Not much time to do what? Move where? I can't remember. Wait, what am I trying to remember?

I try to lift my head to ask those questions.

But everything recedes and I'm back in the dark.

"It's a damned good thing she's so light," someone says. It must be whoever is carrying me, because when he speaks, I feel his chest vibrate against my ear. His voice actually stirs memories, old memories that I didn't even know I had. "How much farther do we need to go?"

"Christina should be waiting a couple more blocks away," someone else answers. This voice sounds familiar, too. "She's got her car."

"Did she know about this before tonight?"

"She still doesn't know."

"Jesus, Matthew! Did you and Caleb tell anyone what you've been up to for all this time?"

"I don't have time to explain this to you right now, Amar. Just trust me."

The names don't mean anything to me. I think I should probably know them, but I don't. Why should I know their names? Why do I recognize their voices? Why can't I remember? What am I trying to remember?

"She's starting to wake up," says Amar, the man carrying me.

"Good," says the other man, Matthew.

Yes, I can remember their names. This is good. I feel relief, but I don't know why I'm relieved.

"That's it? Good?"

"It means that some of the drugs they've been giving her are already wearing off," says Matthew. He sounds like he's trying to explain it to a child. "When she's awake, we can try to see if there's been any permanent psychological damage."

Psychological damage? Those two words pierce through the fog, but I can't understand why they do. I try to wake up, try to grab onto something, because now I'm starting to panic at the thought that there's something wrong with me. I don't know where I am, I don't know who I am, and I don't know something that I should have remembered. What was I supposed to remember?

"There's Christina," says Matthew.

"Good, because she's starting to struggle a little bit and I'm not sure how much longer I can carry her."

I hear someone far away gasp and start to cry. I don't know why, but I feel like my own heart is breaking with her. How do I know that the crying person is female? How do I just seem to know that I can trust these people? Who are they? I can't remember.

"Oh my god!" This voice must belong to Christina. "What the hell is this, Matthew?" She's angry now.

"There is no time right now to explain, Christina. Get her to Four and wait at his apartment. Caleb and Cara will meet you there soon. I have to go back and make sure that her tracker is headed in the opposite direction."

"Tracker! What is going on, Matthew?" Christina is definitely angry.

Wait, how do I know that she's angry? How do I know any of these people? What is happening? Why can't I remember?

"Amar, circle back around and get Zeke and Cara. Meet back at Four's apartment. I'll explain when George and I are done throwing off the tracking system."

"I'm counting on the explanation," Amar's voice buzzes against my ear again.

He lowers me down into some kind of chair and then backs away. I manage to open my eyes and I think I'm looking at Matthew in front of me. My vision is a little blurry, but I can make out his eyes and nose. He brushes my hair out of my face and looks at me.

"Hang in there, Tris. Just a little longer and you'll be safe." This is definitely Matthew. His voice isn't deep enough to be Amar's.

I wish I could say something back to him, or do anything except stare in terror. I recognize him; he's one of the demons from my nightmares. He must see the panic in my eyes, because he places his hands around mine and keeps looking me in the eye. I watch his eyes, expecting them to change, to turn red and evil. They don't, though, and after a few moments, I think I can trust that they won't. I relax back into the chair and nod at him.

Matthew steps away and closes a door next to me. I realize now that I'm in a car. How do I know this is a car? Why can't I think? Why can't I remember?

I can hear Matthew, Christina, and Amar talking outside the car, but I can't make out what they're saying. They speak for a few moments, then the door on the other side of the car opens and a girl gets in. She must be Christina. I feel like I should recognize her, and I trust her instinctively. She looks at me for a couple of minutes, and she's crying. I want to cry with her.

"I'm so sorry, Tris," she says. I think Tris is my name. It must be, because she's the second person to call me that. "If I'd known you were still alive…" She doesn't continue her sentence. She starts the car and drives.

I have nothing to measure the time as Christina drives, but it doesn't seem like very long before she pulls up in front of a building with large glass doors and windows. Even in that short amount of time, I feel more aware. I still can't remember whatever it is that I've forgotten, but the world feels more solid around me, like I've finally awakened from being asleep for a very long time.

"Do you think you can walk?" Christina asks.

"I don't know." My voice sounds harsh and foreign, like I haven't spoken in years.

"Ok, wait here. I have to get help, because I won't be able to carry you. I'm locking the doors behind me. Don't open them for anyone, not even me. I have the key, ok?"

I nod.

She runs into the building and I lose sight of her when she gets into the elevator. I angle my body to put my back against the door, leaning my head back against the glass. Matthew had said earlier that I was drugged, and I believe him. The fogginess in my head is slowly receding, leaving a headache behind. The window is cool against my skin, but it only eases the ache slightly. I still can't remember what I've forgotten, but it doesn't seem to matter as much right now.

I'm startled when Christina opens the door behind me. She helps me climb out of the car, and I nearly fall to the ground. My legs don't want to work. It seems to take forever for us to stumble into the building, and when we're finally inside, I see someone standing in front of the elevator, his finger on the call button.

He's more familiar to me than anyone else I've met since Amar picked me up. I know those shoulders. I recognize the edges of the tattoo that I can see above the collar of his jacket.

"Tobias?"

His name rips itself out of my mouth, and it feels like it's tearing out of my soul. His shoulders stiffen and he stands rigidly in front of the opening elevator doors. When he turns around, I catch a flash of red in his eyes and I clench my fist, trying to grab the gun that I know should be somewhere nearby. I'm so caught in my panic that I don't notice that the world is spinning around me and the edges of my vision are fading to black. I hear someone cry my name, but I can't do anything but fall.


	3. Chapter 3

_**Tobias**_

My eyes see what is before me, but my mind refuses to understand. My feet are suddenly leaden. My chest restricts, choking the breath from me. Time is standing still.

I am standing still.

Christina's desperate cries reach my ears, but I hear them as if through cotton. She tries to wake the girl, who can't possibly be Tris, shaking her and yelling her name.

"Four, help me!" Christina screams. It is her urgency that finally frees my feet. I run forward, crossing the lobby in just a few strides, suddenly desperate to touch the girl, just to prove to myself that this is real, that she's really who she appears to be.

Even as I reach down to pick her up, I'm terrified that Tris will evaporate into thin air the moment I touch her. She's done that so many times in my dreams, and surely I am dreaming. When it doesn't happen this time, I can't stop the sob that escapes my mouth. She's too thin, too pale. I can feel the bones of her spine along my arm when I pull her to me. Her raven tattoos stand out in sharp contrast against the skin of her collar bone.

I try to ignore the fact that she's disturbingly light. There are fresh bruises and new scars on her body, which is barely covered by the bands of white fabric around her chest and hips. I try not to focus on anything except the fact that I'm touching her, that she's back in my arms, because I can't afford to be distracted by the rage at whoever put those marks on her body.

The elevator ride seems to take forever considering we're only going up four floors. When it stops, I let Christina lead the way back to my apartment and open the door for me. I carry Tris into my bedroom and lay her on the bed, kneeling beside it to get a better look at her. I can't resist the need to touch her, but my hands shake as I try to put my fingers in her hair, which is matted, greasy, and dull. Her cheeks are sunken and there are dark circles under her eyes. The bruises I noticed before are mostly under her shoulders, down her back and sides, and along the backs of her legs, reinforcing the impression that she's been laying on her back for a long time without moving. My hands are still shaking when I pull the sheet and blankets around her.

I need to resist the urge to hover. Tris is alive, she's in my home, and no one can get to her except through me. I need to remember those three things. The deeply cynical part of me is convinced that this is all another dream, that she won't be there when I turn back around. After so many years of believing her to be dead, I need to wait here until she wakes up, just to be sure that she's really alive. But I need answers more than I need assurances, so I force myself to leave the bedroom.

Christina is pacing my living room, practically running circles around my couch and chairs. She's a wreck. Her cheeks are tear-stained and her eyes are blood-shot. She's biting her nails, something I know she hasn't done in years. She looks at me and runs her hands through her hair.

"Explain. Now." I demand, my voice quiet but sharp with anger. I know that I'm wearing the Dauntless instructor mask now, a mask I haven't worn in years. If it gets the answers I need, then I don't care.

"I swear, I didn't know anything until Amar put her in my car."

"Amar?" I try to swallow through a dry throat. I trusted Amar. How could he not tell me about this?

"Yeah," she says, nodding. "He carried her out of an alley on the other side of town. Matthew was with him."

"What the hell happened? Where has she been all this time?"

How did I not know she was still alive? How did I not feel it in my very soul?

"I don't know," says Christina. "They didn't tell me anything. Matthew just insisted that I bring her to you."

"Where are Matthew and Amar now?"

"Matthew sent Amar to get Zeke and Cara while Matthew went back to get George and finish something with the tracker that he said they had on her. He said to meet here. He didn't tell you anything earlier in the day?"

"No," I say sharply. "I haven't actually talked to Matthew in quite some time. He and I haven't exactly been close friends." It's irrational, but I will never forgive him for the part that he played at the compound. I know he wasn't directly responsible for what happened, but that's been small comfort in the years since.

"Good thing you don't hold a grudge," Christina says dryly. She sits down on my couch, her head in her hands.

Before I can ask more questions, Zeke walks through my front door without knocking, as he usually does when he knows I'm home and awake. Amar and Cara are with him. I notice Cara is carrying a large duffle bag. She immediately asks where Tris is, and I point her to the bedroom. Cara and Christina both go in and close the door behind them.

I fight the urge to follow them. I feel like I'm lost, drowning in feelings I haven't experienced in years. Tris was the only person who could save me from them then, and now that I have her back, I can never let her out of my sight again. But the part of my brain that's still capable of rational thought surfaces just in time; Tris is safe with Cara and Christina. I can trust them.

Rage is flowing through me like fire, and I almost don't care that I haven't lost control of myself this badly since I was an initiate in the Dauntless compound. I can't fight the compulsion to punch someone, and unfortunately Zeke is the person closest to me. Before I know what's happening, my fist connects with Zeke's jaw. It's a good thing he doesn't have a glass jaw, because I know I threw all of my weight into that right hook. Amar has to pull me away.

"How could you not tell me?" I yell at them. "How could you keep me out of the loop on this? You both know, more than anyone else, what it would have meant to me to know she's been alive all this time."

Amar swears under his breath.

"Get it together, or we're going to have problems, Four," Amar says, his voice low and threatening. I know that threat is not just idle words.

"We didn't know, asshole," says Zeke as he takes some peas out of the freezer in my kitchen and presses the bag to his jaw. He swears as the cold bag makes contact with his skin. "Matthew didn't tell me anything until last week, and even then he kept the objective to himself. He just said that he needed some muscle to help a mutual friend out of a dangerous situation. He told me not to tell you, fed me some bullshit excuse about not wanting to ruin your career." Zeke sneers a little at that part; he's never been fond of bureaucrats.

"I didn't even know that much until yesterday," says Amar. "As far as I can tell, the only people who knew the whole plan are Matthew and Caleb, maybe Cara."

"From what I understand, it may not be over yet," Zeke continues. "If Matt and Caleb don't manage to make it here before dawn, we need to get her out of town. They weren't exactly forthcoming with details on why, but I don't think he was exaggerating the need to hide her if they don't come back."

Zeke massages his jaw again. "I'll let that sucker punch go, considering you're all emotional and shit. But, next time, I'll break your nose. Again."

I force myself to breathe. Zeke has never lied to me about anything in our entire friendship. I've known him for half my life and I have no reason to doubt him. But I still feel like being left out of the rescue was a betrayal.

"Are we good, here?" asks Amar, giving me a hard look. I meet his stare and nod. He lets me go and I practically fall on the couch.

"Each of us has only known exactly what our jobs are in this little operation," says Amar. "This whole thing was typical resistance cell mode of operation. If one person fails, there's no way they can give up information about the operation as a whole because he doesn't know anything except his particular function. Smart thinking, considering those two had no tactical training."

I look at the clock above the door. It's only been half an hour since Christina dragged me out of bed. Stress and fatigue from the week that I'd forgotten have been compounded by twelve years of rage and grief, and I realize that I'm exhausted. I need to rest, and the only thing keeping me from barging into my own bedroom and wrapping myself around the one person with whom I have ever shared a decent night of sleep is the fact that Cara and Christina are still in there with her.

"When will the others get here?" I ask no one in particular.

"I don't know," answers Amar. "They didn't give us an ETA, but I'd think that they should be here soon, if they make it at all." Amar's voice is quiet. I can tell he's worried about George, but there's a little bit of heat in those words that belies a good amount of anger. Apparently, I'm not the only one feeling out of the loop.

I nod, then get up from the couch and move to the kitchen to make some coffee. If I don't do something to keep busy, I think I might tear the bedroom door of its hinges.

"Would either of you like a cup of coffee?" My voice is calm and even, surprising even myself. I'm falling into habits that I learned growing up in Abnegation, and I know it's showing. It's a good thing, if it will help me regain control of myself.

"I think I could do with an entire pot," says Zeke. I can't help but smirk. Zeke has always been a caffeine junky.

"I'll take some," says Amar.

I focus everything I'm feeling into making this pot of coffee, all of the rage, the fear, and the insecurity. I learned a long time ago that losing myself in a small task is almost as good as pounding on a punching bag when it comes to stress relief. My apartment is large enough for the punching bag, but I don't actually have one so the coffee will have to do. I slow my breathing as I carefully measure out the grounds and put them in the filter. By the time I pour the water into the back of the pot, my hands have stopped shaking. I pull some mugs down out of the cabinet behind me, setting them on the bar that separates the kitchen from the living room, and my heart beat has evened out to a normal rhythm. I set out some cream and sugar for those who may want it, and my breathing is now steady and sure.

When I sit down on the couch to wait for the coffee to brew, I am in control of myself again. Amar, seated on the opposite end of the couch, raises an eyebrow at me. He knows me better than almost anyone else and he knows exactly what I was doing with the coffee. I don't care that he knows. I'm just relieved that it worked.

I hear the water start to run in the bathroom just before Cara comes out of the bedroom. I start to stand up. She motions for me to stay and shakes her head.

"Christina is helping Tris clean up a bit. I just need to get a glass of water. And dispose of this." She's holding the plastic bag from the waste basket between her fingers, grimacing at it. Even though the bag is tied, I can smell the acrid stench of its contents.

I nod, keeping a tight hold on the control that I regained while making the coffee. I have to remind myself that I might not be the best help for Tris right now, but Cara and Christina are. Besides, I don't think Cara will let me at this point, given the set of her jaw.

"The trash can is under the sink. The glasses are in an upper cabinet to the left of the sink, middle shelf," I tell her. "Use the filtered water in the pitcher by the fridge."

"It's not chilled?"

"No, room temperature."

"Perfect," she says. "Do you happen to have anything like broth and crackers? She's going to need to eat something soon, and that would be better than anything else."

Zeke scoffs. "You're asking a Stiff if he has broth and crackers?"

I chuckle a little, amused at the irony myself.

"Crackers are to the right of the fridge, middle shelf. I think I might have some chicken broth in the fridge."

"Good," says Cara, crossing back to the bedroom with the glass of water in her hand. "And I take my coffee black with two sugars."

"Duly noted," I reply. "Let me know when she's ready for the crackers and broth."

"Certainly," she says as she goes back into the bedroom.

I rub my eyes and take another deep breath. I've spent the majority of my adult life developing the ability to control the rage, shame, and grief that was so deeply ingrained in my personality that they felt like old friends. That control has served me well. I feel as if it has all been stripped from me in less than an hour, knowing that Tris is alive and has been all this time. I've got to get a grip, and fast. If Zeke is right, and danger could be around the corner, I'm going to need more self-control than I ever have in the past.


	4. Chapter 4

_**Tris**_

I feel something sharp stick in my neck, and it wakes me up. The room around me is lit by a single small lamp, but it's enough light to let me see the two other people in the room. The girl from the car, Christina, is standing at the foot of the bed where I'm laying. I feel like I should know the other woman, but I can't think of her name.

"What's going on?" I ask as I try to sit up. My voice sounds ragged even to my own ears, and I can't fight the panic. I may not exactly have the greatest memory at the moment, but I know that nothing good has ever come from someone giving me an injection. "What are you doing to me?"

"It's ok, Tris," says Christina. "Cara's here to help. You're safe, now."

"Don't try to get up just yet," the other girl, Cara, says as she puts a couple more pillows behind me and nudges my shoulders back down onto them. It isn't hard to comply. "I just gave you an injection of a very mild stimulant and some enzymes to help your body break down whatever serums are still in your blood stream. Let it work for a little bit, then we'll help you get cleaned up. In the meantime, we'll try to answer your questions."

I don't know why, but my instincts tell me that I can trust this person. It's not exactly as if I really have a choice, but there's no panic associated with her.

"Where am I?"

"You're in Chicago," says Cara, "at the home of Tobias Eaton, a friend. You're safe here." She hesitates a little when calling Tobias a friend. She's hiding something there, but I won't press the issue yet, especially if he is the same man I saw earlier. Surely I remembered the wrong name.

"You saw Tobias in the lobby. He carried you up here," says Christina, trying to be helpful, I'm sure, but my stomach drops like a stone. Tobias Eaton is the man I recognized as being the demon who has tortured me in my nightmares relentlessly for as long as I can remember. The knowledge that I am in his home should terrify me.

"Who am I?" I ask shakily.

Cara frowns and hesitates, tilting her head to the side. Apparently, she expected me to know that already.

"Your name is Beatrice Prior," says Christina. "You go by the name Tris among your friends. You were born in Chicago a little more than 28 years ago, when we were still divided among factions. You were born Abnegation and transferred to Dauntless on Choosing Day. Your parents, Andrew and Natalie Prior, were leaders among the Abnegation and they were killed when Erudite, another faction, staged a coup to overthrow Abnegation as the ruling faction. You were instrumental in the following revolution that ended the factions and liberated Chicago." Christina stops. She shares a weighted look with Cara, who nods at her to continue."You've been missing for almost 13 years. We all thought you were dead."

As Christina speaks, images of people, places, and events come to mind. I think they're memories, my memories, but I'm not certain. A grey room with bare walls and utilitarian furniture. A kind-faced woman cutting my hair. Jumping off a train onto a rooftop. Looking into dark blue eyes as a boy helps me climb off a net. More and more of them, some tame and some terrifying. I try to concentrate on the memories as they come, but I can't isolate one before the next replaces it. It all fits with what Christina is telling me, and I have a strong feeling that it's all true.

"Where have I been since I went missing?" As I ask the question, I remember stumbling into a vault-like room and confronting a man in a wheelchair. I have to get to the controls on the other side of the room, and I run for it, typing a code into a computer just before hearing a gunshot and feeling searing pain in my back. I remember forcing myself to push the button as I fall to the floor.

I close my eyes and try to breathe slowly. I will count to four and the panic will go away. _One._ I take a deep breath. _Two. _I swallow through my dry throat. _Three._ I breathe out. _Four. _I open my eyes and the panic is gone.

Cara answers my last question, having waited for me to calm myself. "We don't know, exactly. You might have been here in Chicago the entire time, or the people who took you could have kept moving you between research outposts throughout the country. You were extracted here, in Chicago."

I nod. I have to ask one more question, and that will be enough for now: "What did they do to me?" My voice is small, quiet, and unsteady. I know that I have not always been as I am now. I know that there was a time when I knew that I was Tris and I knew that these people were my friends. I know that something terrible has happened to me, and I need to know what it was so I can figure out how to overcome it.

Cara's eyes soften, and I think I see pity there. I hate her just a little bit in that moment for that look. I don't need her pity. I need answers.

"You are what we call Divergent," Cara says slowly. "That essentially means that you are the end result of generations of genetic manipulation experiments designed to eliminate what some people perceive as flaws in human nature." Her voice is calm and measured, as if she's looking for the right words before she speaks. I can hear a shade of anger in her voice as she continues. "These people were foolishly trying to create the perfect human, at least on a genetic level. But they couldn't control you when they had you, so they very convincingly seized an opportunity to fake your death and take you for further testing and experiments. We believe they were trying to find a way to control you and people like you, so they could start the experiments and breeding programs again on a larger scale. They were trying to break your mind and rebuild it so they would know what they would need to do to recreate Divergence, but in a way that they could control."

I remember a small portion of a conversation I once overheard about changing associative reactions. A chill runs down my spine, and my arms break out in goose bumps, despite the warmth of the blankets over my body. I feel sick, and my stomach clenches.

Christina sees my distress and brings me a trash can just in time so I don't soil the bed. There isn't anything in my stomach except acid and bile, but I continue to heave even when that is gone. Cara holds me steady as I lean over the side of the bed. By the time my body relaxes and I can breathe again, I can't see through the tears running down my cheeks. Cara is holding my hair away from my face and rubbing my back between my shoulder blades, making soft and soothing sounds as if she is comforting a small child. It's working, but I don't want to admit that to her.

"Do you think you can walk far enough to get to the bath tub so we can help you clean up?" Cara asks.

Suddenly, a bath sounds like the most wonderful thing in the world. I nod at her, and Christina helps me stand, guiding me to the bathroom with a hand under my elbow. The tub is small, but it fills quickly, and I sigh when she help me slip into it. It feels incredible, even if the water is hot enough to make my legs tingle. Christina helps me wash and detangle my hair, since I can't hold my arms up long enough to accomplish much of anything.

It takes a long time to work out some of the more snarled tangles. While Christina works on a particularly difficult section, I take a look around myself. The room is clean and the walls are white. A second door is positioned across the room, and I assume it leads out to the rest of the apartment. There's a bar of soap and a bottle of shampoo on one of the shelves around the tub. The sink, tub, commode, and shower curtain are all white. A mirror hangs over the sink, and a razor and a cup containing a toothbrush and a container of toothpaste sit on the back of the sink near the wall. There's a towel bar hanging over the toilet and a dark blue towel hangs over it. There is nothing else in the room. It is definitely a man's bathroom, that much is obvious. I'm glad that I still have enough of my mind intact that I can recognize these things.

My fingers are shriveled before Christina finishes with my hair. She pulls a comb through all of it one more time before declaring that it's done. I hold my breath as she washes it one more time to get rid of the copious amounts of conditioner the task required. The water has cooled considerably and I'm ready to get out. My body is still shaky, but I'm able to stand, get out of the tub, and dry off with minimal support. I avoid looking in the mirror. I don't want to see my reflection yet.

The stimulant and the bath together have helped more than I care to admit. I manage to walk back to the bed without falling or passing out from dizziness. Cara has laid out some clean clothes for me. I've already thrown away the cloth that was covering me before. The sweat pants and t-shirt are too big for me, but they're clean and warm. Just putting them on helps me feel more like myself, whoever that may be. By the time I ease back between the sheets, I know that I have exhausted what little strength my body possesses and the stimulant is beginning to wear off.

There's a glass of water on the table by the bed. I'm suddenly very thirsty. Cara warns me to drink slowly. I sip at the water despite the desire to drink it as fast as I can. It's lukewarm, but wet and soothing on my throat. My stomach growls.

"Keep drinking that slowly," says Cara. "If you can keep that down, and you're still awake to eat, I'll ask Four to bring you some food that you can digest."

"Four? Like the number?" I ask, confused.

Christina smiles at me and says, "Tobias's nickname."

I don't want to think about him. He terrifies me. His image was used to visit unspeakable terror and torment on me. Whoever designed those simulations used him for a reason, and I need to know why he was important enough to me that they did it. I have my suspicions, but I have to ask.

"Who is he? To me, specifically, I mean."

Cara frowns again, deepening the crease between her eyebrows. She doesn't want to tell me.

"I don't think we should talk about that yet," she says. "It's something that you might handle better if you remember it on your own."

"No," I say as I shake my head. "I need to know. Now."

Cara looks at Christina and nods, as if giving her permission, or maybe asking her to tell me, instead.

"Tobias was another Abnegation-born Dauntless transfer. He was one of our instructors during initiation." Christina's eyes soften. "He was your boyfriend, before…well, before we thought you died."

Dread settles like a rock in my stomach. He was my boyfriend. That conversation I remember overhearing makes more sense now. They used him to torture me. I turn back to Cara with wide eyes. I'm beginning to develop a theory, and I don't like it.

"Tell me exactly how they tried to break my mind."

"They kept you dosed with increasing levels of several serum cocktails designed to stimulate the parts of your brain that control fear, memory, and cognition," she says softly. "They kept you sedated, keeping your body alive with IVs and feeding tubes, so that you were weak and couldn't resist. And they locked you in concentric simulations, a way to keep you from realizing that the things around you weren't real, since you're usually aware of them as they're happening. They extracted memories of people you knew and trusted, usually Tobias, and twisted them to terrify you, to keep your psyche off balance and to further destabilize your sense of reality."

"For how long?" I ask the question even though I don't know if I want to know the answer.

Cara's eyes soften, showing more of the pity that I despise. Only those who are weak need pity. And I don't want to be weak.

"You were in a persistent simulation for at least three years. Maybe longer."

My breath catches. Three years? "What happened before then, between the time they took me and the time they put me under?"

"We don't know."

I am suddenly exhausted. I don't want to process everything that Cara and Christina have told me. And even though I know I've been sedated for years, I need to sleep. I tuck my head to the pillow that I know belongs to the man who has been twisted into the monster from my nightmares. I breathe in the smell on his pillow, the cleanness of detergent with something heavy, sweet, and distinctly male mixed in, and close my eyes. I wait for the fear, but it doesn't come. Instead, I am calm. I feel safe and comforted, burying my face into the pillow case. I have a brief memory of doing the same thing before, in another lifetime, when I was safe and sheltered. I cling to this memory, because it means that somewhere, in the deeper parts of my mind, some part of me remembers the truth. And, if it's there, I will find it.

"I need to sleep," I say to Cara and Christina. "But I don't want to be alone."

"I'll stay with you," says Christina. The other side of the bed dips when she sits on the mattress. She fidgets as she kicks of her shoes, and settles down next to me.

This feels familiar, like so many other things I've encountered in the last couple of hours. I remember stretching out on a cot in large room filled with other cots. I remember a girl, a younger Christina, settling down on the cot next to me. We were initiates together. We survived and became Dauntless together.

"I think I'm beginning to remember," I say to Christina through a yawn. "We were initiates together. We got each other through initiation."

"Yes," Christina says. I can hear the relief in her voice. "That's right." She smiles at me, a smile that I return.

"I'm going to let you sleep," says Cara. "If you need anything, we're just in the other room. Send Christina if you're not ready to come out yourself."

I'm not able to respond. I'm already asleep.

* * *

**Author's Note:** I kind of broke my own rules with this chapter, because I normally can't stand exposition through dialog. However, I couldn't come up with a better way to incorporate what Tris needs to know, since she obviously can't remember anything right now, and what I wanted to add. So, sorry for the info dump. I'll try to keep it to a minimum next time. :)


	5. Chapter 5

_**Tobias**_

Just after three o'clock, someone knocks on the door, three quick taps. I answer it, and carefully keep my arms at my side when I see Matthew, Caleb, and George. I step back and allow them to come inside, barely managing to keep from grabbing Matthew by the collar and shoving him into the wall. I know if I try, I'll have Zeke, George, and Amar to deal with, and I don't really like those odds.

George sits next to Amar, and Amar's relief to see his partner alive is a palpable thing, radiating off of Amar and easing into the room. It helps me calm down and maintain control of myself. Matthew and Caleb remain standing. Zeke hasn't moved from his spot on the floor. I settle on one of the chairs next to the couch, retrieving my cooling cup of coffee from the coffee table. Cara is sitting on the edge of the other chair across from me.

"Oh, goody," says Zeke, nursing his own coffee mug as if it were a fifth of whiskey. "The brains are here. Maybe now we'll finally find out what the hell is going on in this crazy town."

Caleb looks at me, square in the eye, and I tell him what he wants to know. He is her brother, after all. He's entitled to know that Tris is safe.

"She's in the bedroom with Christina," I say. "Cara tells me she's asleep. For now."

Caleb nods.

"What happened, Caleb?" I ask. Rage is beginning to burn like fire in my blood. I can't keep it out of my voice. "Tell me how she is still alive and I'm the last one to know." My voice is quiet even to my own ears. I am falling into old patterns that I used as a Dauntless instructor. A whisper is sometimes more terrifying than a shout, and I want them both to be scared of me right now.

Caleb looks down and begins to tell a tale that is too fantastic, too crazy, to not be true.

"Matthew, Cara, and I have been working with a covert operations unit with the national government for the last twelve years. Well, Matthew and I were recruited right after the incident at the Bureau compound. Cara came in a few years ago. The objective was to investigate and infiltrate a private company that specializes in genetic research. One of their top-secret projects dealt with eugenics experiments that were considered unethical then and are illegal now."

"You have to understand one thing, Four," says Matthew. "The company was a front for an organization of people with very deep pockets and a lot of power. This organization has been in existence for the better part of three hundred years. They were behind the eugenics movement in the early twentieth century, and they've been playing the long game ever since, trying to perfect humanity." Matthew's voice is hard and he practically spits out those last two words. That explains his involvement in the operation. He's never been a fan of the idea of genetic purity. "The investigation had to be very careful and thorough."

"It wasn't hard for the unit to get us through the door," Caleb says. "Matthew's experience in genetic research and mine with the Erudite serums landed us both entry-level positions with the company, but it took a lot longer to get to promoted far enough that we could actually collect the data needed to begin building a case to prosecute the organization. The real work didn't really begin until Matthew was reassigned within the company about four years ago. Until that point, we really didn't have any concrete evidence of the identity of their primary test subject, or even that they were experimenting on living humans."

"No concrete evidence," I interrupt, my voice cold. "But you both had suspicions that Tris was still alive, has been alive the entire time, or you wouldn't have bothered."

Matthew and Caleb share a look with one another, as if neither of them wanted to continue the tale. I know before either of them answers that I'm not going to like what they're about to tell me. I narrow my eyes at them and motion for them to continue.

"There were certain inconsistencies with her autopsy that made me suspicious at the compound," says Matthew. "But the body was cremated before I could look at things for myself. And later, when I took the job with the company, the genetic profile we were analyzing was familiar enough that I did some digging and found out that it was hers. It wasn't proof of life, though, so the agents handling the operation decided not to escalate the timeline. The lead investigator didn't want to blow our covers and risk the investigation as a whole when there was no assurance that there was a living person to rescue."

"So you waited, what, another ten years to get your proof?" My voice remains cold as I ask the question, but I can feel the color and heat of intense rage start to burn along the back of my neck and the edges of my face.

Matthew frowns at me. "We didn't have anything to go on except a couple of factual inaccuracies on a rushed field autopsy and a genetic profile that didn't necessarily have to come from a living person. It wasn't enough to scrap an investigation that, in the long run, could save many more lives by ruining the organization behind it all. So, yes, we waited."

"We got proof of life several years into the investigation, actually," says Caleb. "It was an uncorrupted blood sample that I found in one of the labs with a date on it that was just a couple of months old. It matched Tris's genetic profile, but we didn't know where she was being held so the unit couldn't put together an extraction plan."

I stop looking at both of them. I can barely tolerate being in the same room with them. My coffee cup is empty, but I stare into it and concentrate on breathing as evenly as possible to avoid crushing it between my hands. They knew that she was alive, for years, and they never once mentioned it to me.

"The lead investigator started coordinating with other agencies," Caleb continues. "He hoped that we would be able to infiltrate the company at deeper levels more quickly, but it still took years to find her and figure out a way to get her out. Only a very few people knew that Tris was still alive and that they had her. We couldn't risk a security breach that would have jeopardized the entire operation. We didn't even know where she was being held until about twelve days ago. We only told people as it became necessary in the execution of the extraction."

"Necessary for the extraction," I choke on those words, and look up to glare at them. "Hell, don't ask me for help. I'm just the obsessed boyfriend who's been grieving needlessly for twelve years."

Can I really even lay claim to that title anymore? It's been so long since I've even seen her, and I gave her up for dead when I should have known that she was still alive. How will she ever trust me again, knowing that I wasn't there for her?

"There's actually a really good reason we didn't involve you, Four," says Cara, who has been silent up to this point. "Show him, Matthew."

Matthew pulls a pad out of the backpack I hadn't noticed that he brought with him. He turns it on and taps it in several places, then hands it to me. It's set to play a video, and Matthew starts the playback. There is no sound. I recognize Tris, who is standing in front of a table, and myself, standing across the room from where she is standing. There are two bowls on the table, and I recognize them from the aptitude test that most of us in the room took when we were teenagers. Tris glances down and the bowls disappear, replaced by a gun. She looks back up and my image has changed. My eyes have turned red and claws and fangs have replaced my fingers and teeth. As I begin to lunge at her, she raises the gun and pulls the trigger.

When the video is finished, I close my eyes and let Matthew take the pad from my hands. I don't know what I expected, but it wasn't this. My stomach sinks like a rock. No wonder she passed out in the lobby. She wasn't just physically weak after years of neglect and abuse. She was terrified.

Of me.

"That's a copy of the simulation she was in just a few hours ago," Cara says softly. She has crossed the room and put her hands around my own, kneeling in front of me. "She's been living some variation of that nightmare for a very long time, and even before that, the demon version of you was used in other simulations to torture her, to break her. Just after we had proof she was still alive, Caleb hacked their systems and found recordings of the earlier simulations, and they were terrible and extremely graphic. Her good memories were all but stripped from her mind and replaced by things that you can't comprehend. We were never certain that we'd be able to find her, so it was better that you continued to believe she was dead than to give you hope of something that might never have happened. And we didn't bring you on the extraction team because if she'd seen you when she was just coming out of the sedation, she would have panicked and we could have lost you both."

"We took a big enough risk sending her to you," says Caleb. "We didn't tell anyone else about her being alive until last week when the extraction team leader finally listened to my advice and approved my requests to add Amar, George, and Zeke to the extraction plan. I wanted to her friends and family to be involved in her rescue, not a bunch of strangers."

I nod my head in agreement. Tris has been left to the tender mercies of strangers for long enough. But I might be one of those strangers, now. It might have been a mistake for them to bring her here. My chest constricts at that thought.

"Why did it take so long for you guys to get here?" asks Amar.

"We had to make sure," says Matthew, "that the investigation team got a key piece of evidence they needed to put the leaders of the organization in prison for a very long time. We also needed to make sure that whatever trackers they were using on Tris were misdirected long enough to get her to a safer location if necessary. But, we got what we needed, and even with all their power and money, the men behind the organization will not be walking free ever again. The organization as a whole is finished." Even I can hear the satisfaction in Matthew's voice.

"We still have to be debriefed," says Caleb, "but it's over. She's safe now, Four."

I am unable to speak. My throat is so dry that it hurts when I try to swallow. I know that her body is safe, but I also know that it will be a long time before her mind will recover. I may have found her after all this time only to lose her again. I scrub my face with my hands, and only when I see the tears on my hands do I realize that I have been crying.

* * *

George and Amar leave sometime shortly after Matthew and Caleb are done with their explanations, and I have the distinct impression that they're both going to be holding a little more tightly to one another for a while. Matthew sticks around for a while, but I don't realize that he's gone until the rest of us settle in for what remains of the night. Cara, Zeke, and Caleb all stay, and I'm pretty sure that Zeke is only here to keep an eye on me. He assures me that Shauna knows what has been going on and is alright with him not coming home. I don't know that I believe him, but it doesn't really matter at this point.

My apartment is spacious enough for one person, maybe two, but not nearly big enough for six people, even if two of them are in the bedroom. I don't have a guest room, but I have extra sheets and blankets for the couch, and one of the chairs reclines. After making sure that Cara and Caleb are set up on the couch and chair, respectively, I stretch out on the floor near the kitchen. Zeke takes the spot between the coffee table and the front door, putting his gun on the floor within easy reach, mostly as a precaution. We both share the opinion that we'll be more comfortable on the floor than in either of the chairs.

I purposely position myself as far from the bedroom door as I can without blocking the guest entrance to the bathroom. The aching need to go to Tris, to hold her and feel her skin against mine, was effectively crushed when Matthew played that video. I'm certain that she will want to be as far away from me as possible when she wakes up. I don't want to think about what happened to her, and bile rises in my throat when I remember the demon my image became in that video.

I only get a couple of hours of rest because I keep waking up from nightmares. They all have the same theme. My fingers are long claws, covered in blood, and I'm standing over Tris's body as a pool of blood expands around her. That simulation was a graphic reminder of one of my greatest fears: that I am my father's son, that I would become a monster in her eyes. They have turned me into that monster, at least as far as Tris is concerned.

When I finally give up on the notion of sleep, the sun is starting to rise. I leave the drapes closed because Cara, Caleb, and Zeke are still sleeping and I don't want to wake them. On stiff legs, I stumble across the small space to the bathroom door and knock quietly before opening the door. I would love to take a shower, but I don't want to wake anyone with the noise of the water, so I have to be satisfied with just washing my face in the sink. My reflection in the mirror is haggard and worn. I look as tired as I feel.

The door to the bedroom opens next to me, and someone gasps. Tris is standing there, her eyes wide and nearly wild with fear. My heart clenches and I know that she's not seeing me, not really. I lower my hands to my sides and back away from her, trying to avoid any movement that she might feel is threatening. I know I probably shouldn't look her in the eyes, but I can't force myself to look away. Even as I leave the room, I silently plead for her to see that I'm just a man, that my eyes are human, that I am not a monster.

I am not Marcus.

When I'm outside the bathroom, I close the other door and lean my forehead against the door frame, trying to calm the despair in my gut. I clench my fists at my side. That hurt far more than I care to admit. I hate having to retreat from her when all I really want is to hold her and feel the warmth of her against my body. But I will put her needs above mine.

I have to get out of the apartment. Since Tris hasn't left the bedroom, I really can't change out of the sweats and t-shirt that I normally sleep in, but they aren't that different from the clothes I wear when I run. And a run sounds like a good idea right about now. I put on my shoes and my jacket, patting the pocket of the jacket to make sure I have my keys in case everyone's gone when I return. Before I walk out of the door, I write a quick note for Zeke so no one worries where I've gone. I close the door as quietly as possible and by the time I'm headed out the lobby doors, I'm already running at a full sprint.


	6. Chapter 6

_**Tris**_

I stare at the other door after Tobias leaves, the need to relieve myself momentarily forgotten. His expression is etched into my mind. I don't think I've ever seen that much pain in someone else's eyes. Blue eyes. They were blue eyes, dark blue, not red. Even more than the expression on his face, I felt the tension that radiated off of him and filled the room. He was hurt by my terror of him, so much so that it thickened the air in the room.

After I take care of my personal needs, I force myself to look in the mirror while I'm washing my hands. I don't know what I was expecting, but I'm still surprised at what I see. My skin is sallow and pale. Judging by the sharpness of my cheekbones and chin, I'm severely underweight. The circles under my eyes make them seem even larger and overwhelm the grey-blue color. There's a thin scar running along the underside of my jaw, descending about two inches from the corner of my left ear, and I can see small puncture scars on the skin over my carotid artery. I don't recognize the person staring back at me, but I seem to remember not having much opportunity to look in mirrors growing up.

I return to the bed, but I can't sleep. My stomach growls and my throat feels like sandpaper. Christina hasn't moved since I got up. Her head is buried under the pillow and her soft snoring is a good indication that she'll be asleep for a while longer. I consider waking her to send her into the other room, but that feels too much like weakness and cowardice. Besides, she had a late night, and, unlike me, she probably hasn't spent the better part of the last ten years asleep.

No, I will not wait here and cower, waiting for someone else to do what I know I need to do. I climb back out of the bed and take a deep breath. My legs are steady as I walk across the room and put my hand on the door knob. I swallow back all of my fear, and open the door.

After a quick look around, I realize that Tobias isn't here. I'm torn between relief that I've been given a momentary reprieve and disappointment that he left. I can't remember anything about him other than the nightmares I've had of him for the past few years, but now that I am no longer under the influence of sedatives and simulation serums, I know instinctively that he would never do any of the things that the demon of my nightmares did to me.

It's dark in the living room, but I can tell that Cara is sleeping on the couch. The man in the recliner looks familiar, like so many others, but I can't place his face with a name. I can't see the man on the floor well enough to know who he is. I tiptoe around him toward the kitchen.

The kitchen is laid out fairly simply. I don't have to dig around too much to find a clean glass and the water pitcher. The question of food is a little more difficult. There are eggs and other breakfast foods in the refrigerator, but I don't want to wake anyone banging around with the pots and pans. After a little more rummaging, I find a box of crackers and settle on a barstool. The crackers are pretty tasteless, but my stomach feels better once I've eaten a few.

Before long, Christina emerges from the bedroom, rubbing grit from her eyes. She takes a wide-eyed look around and then crosses the room quietly and sits beside me on another barstool.

"I think we missed the party," she says quietly. "Where's Four?"

"I don't know," I say with a grimace. "I got up to go to the bathroom a little while ago and walked in on him in the bathroom." Christina's eyes widen as if she's scandalized, a playful glint in her eyes. "It wasn't like that," I say quickly. "He was just washing his face, I think. He didn't say anything. He just backed out of the room. When I came out here, he was gone."

I can't bring myself to tell her about the look on his face or the tension between us. It feels like something I need to discuss with Tobias, and him alone. Something must tip Christina off, though, because she narrows her eyes at me.

"What's wrong, Tris?"

"It's nothing. I think. Just gaps in memories and instincts and impressions that don't make sense right now."

The answer seems to satisfy her for the moment. She nods at me, then picks up a cracker and crunches it loudly between her teeth.

"Have you remembered anything more?" The question is simple, but her tone of voice is full of curiosity.

"Not really," I answer honestly. "I haven't been awake for very long." I motion to the two people I haven't recognized. "Who are they?"

"The gigantic lump on the floor is Zeke. He's pretty much Four's best friend, aside from Amar, maybe. Zeke's can be giant pain in the ass, but he usually means well. I really have no idea what Shauna sees in him, but he's an alright guy. The one in the recliner is Caleb." She hesitates before continuing. "Caleb Prior. Your brother."

I think about that name a moment, trying to force myself to remember. Nothing comes to mind, though, so I close my eyes and just let my mind remember what it wants, which is nothing for now.

"Yeah, nothing comes to mind for him right now," I admit. Christina raises an eyebrow. "Is that a good thing or a bad thing?"

"More good than bad, I imagine," she says. "Before the compound, he wasn't exactly known for making good choices when it comes to his loyalties. He's been better in the years since then, but it might be better if you make new memories of him as he is now before remembering the things that hurt."

Cara sits up abruptly before I have a chance to respond. I guess we were louder than I thought. She looks a little lost, but takes a look around the room and I think I actually see her posture and facial expression change when she realizes where she is. It's actually a bit funny, so I let myself grin. Cara stands up and carefully steps over Zeke.

"You look terrible," says Christina with a little bit of a teasing lilt in her voice.

"Yeah, well, I didn't have the luxury of stretching out on an actual bed, and I'm pretty sure I've only had about three hours of sleep." Cara's voice is rough with exhaustion.

"Want some coffee?" Christina asks.

"That actually sounds perfect right about now," answers Cara as she makes a beeline for the bathroom. "I'll be right back," she assures us both.

I glance at Christina out of the corner of my eye as she makes the coffee. She seems to be very familiar with Tobias's kitchen, and that sends a small sliver of jealousy through me. The jealousy surprises me. I have no right to be jealous. And the fact that I can be jealous of the one person in the world who terrifies me most is laughable.

"You seem pretty comfortable here," I say, trying to keep my tone as casual as possible. "Are you and Four…" I let my voice trail off.

"No," she laughs. "God, no. I mean, there was that time years ago when we tried to be more than friends, but it was mostly fueled by mutual grief and it was a huge mistake. We were able to salvage the friendship, thankfully. For his reputation as being a stone-faced stoic, he turned out to be surprisingly high-maintenance."

"Oh," I say, trying not to let my relief show. Wait, why am I relieved? I've been terrified of him during both of the times that he's been in the same room with me in the last twelve hours.

Cara emerges from the bathroom and perches on the barstool that Christina vacated a few minutes ago. As Christina finishes with putting the coffee pot together and starts pulling stuff out of the fridge for breakfast, apparently not concerned about waking the others, Cara fills both of us in on the conversation we missed last night. She even tells me about showing Tobias the video of my last simulation, which explains his reaction to me in the bathroom this morning. She's just finishing when the door opens and Tobias walks back into the apartment.

I brace myself for the panic, because I know it's going to come. I take a couple of deep breaths before I realize that there is no terror rising in me to choke me. I'm able to look at him this time without the mind-numbing fear.

His cheeks are red and he's breathing heavily. He doesn't look at me before he goes into his room and shuts the door. I realize too late that Cara and Christina are watching me.

"What?" I ask them.

Neither of them answer me.

Tobias comes back out of his bedroom just about the same time that Christina finishes making breakfast, a huge pan of scrambled eggs with an entire package of bacon and a massive pile of toast. He's showered and changed into clean clothes, the well-worn jeans and a green t-shirt doing nothing to hide the strength in his body. He doesn't say anything when he walks over and pours himself some coffee and helps himself to the food that Christina cooked, and he all but refuses to look at me. He just takes what he wants, muttering a thank you to Christina, pours himself a cup of coffee, and sits down on the couch. He eats quickly, finishing well before the rest of us, then puts on some shoes and his jacket, announces that he's going to his office, and leaves again with the rest of his cup of coffee in his hand.

Cara narrows her eyes and purses her lips, glaring at his back as he leaves the apartment.

"Well, I do believe that that was a rare thing to see," says Christina. "I don't think I've ever seen Four run from anything or anyone with his tail tucked between his legs."

"That was certainly interesting," says Cara. They both look at me at the same time.

"Don't look at me," I say. "I haven't said a word to him, and other than walking in on him this morning when he was washing his face in the bathroom, I haven't been alone with him."

"Think we should send Zeke after him," asks Christina, "or is this more of a job for Amar?"

"I hate to disturb Amar and George, especially after last night," says Cara. "But I think Zeke lacks the necessary finesse."

"You do know I've heard every word the three of you have said for about the last half an hour, right?" Zeke sits up from on floor. The three of us gape at him. "I'll go after him in a minute, and I'll even call Amar on the way. I think we're the only ones who know what he's thinking about right now, at least until Tris remembers it. If he says he's going to his office, then that's where he'll be for at least the next four hours."

Zeke stops in front of me on his way to the bathroom and gives me a look.

"It really is good that you're back," he says to me, his voice and eyes softening. "Despite everything, he'll come around. Just don't worry about him and concentrate on yourself."

"What do I need to remember, Zeke?" I hate that my voice sounds small and vulnerable right now.

Zeke shakes his head.

"If you don't remember, then you need to wait for him to tell you. It's not my secret to tell. And you," he says as he points at Christina, "keep your Candor smart-mouth shut. He'll tell her when he's ready if she doesn't remember first."

Christina glares at him, and it's not a playful look.

"You forget that I was just as Dauntless as you were, Zeke Pedrad. And if you remember nothing else about me from now until the day you die, it's that I don't betray my friends."

Zeke says nothing else. He just walks into the bathroom, leaving us in silence. A few minutes later, he leaves the apartment, making himself a quick sandwich out of the toast, bacon and eggs. He doesn't say another word to us.

"I think I prefer the other side of Zeke," says Cara. "Serious Zeke is deeply scary, and not nearly as much fun."

Christina snorts. "Yeah, I think we've all seen more of serious Zeke than we ever wanted."

"You mean he's not usually that intense?" I ask.

"Not hardly," says Cara. "Zeke is a braggadocios dare-devil whose singular talent for making an ass out of himself for the laughs is legendary. But he's deadly in combat and fiercely loyal to his friends. And he's more perceptive than he lets on." Cara pats my hand. "You have nothing to fear from him. He's just looking out for Four."

Given what I've just witnessed in the last few minutes, I believe her.


	7. Chapter 7

_**Tobias**_

I'm not proud of myself. I know full well that I just ran out of my own apartment because I couldn't stand to face a 90-pound girl. The word _coward_ comes to mind.

_If only Marcus could see me know. Wouldn't he just be so proud._

No matter what I think of him now, I really only ever wanted one thing from him, and that was his good opinion. Any son would want that from his father. The only reason he withheld that good opinion is because he's an abusive bastard. That failing is solely on his shoulders, not mine. I know this, both in my mind and in my heart.

But I know that he would be deeply embarrassed by my cowardice and selfishness this morning. I haven't seen the bastard in more than 10 years, but I know that he hasn't changed. Men like him never do. And the part of me that began life as his son is as ashamed of myself as I know he would surely be of me.

I shake my head, and bring my focus back to the computer monitor in front of me. I have several windows open. I pulled up the data input screen for new arrivals to the city as soon as the computer finished booting up. In order to become a permanent resident of Chicago, with democratic representation in the city's government and access to city resources, all those who relocate here must register with the mayor's office. They're given three months to find a job and they go on the waiting list for permanent living quarters in the city. There is an exemption from the work requirement for people who are unable to work, but it requires statements from medical professionals before a waiver can be granted. I've input Tris's data into the program, but I haven't submitted it yet.

The waiting list spreadsheet is open on the screen next to the other windows. It's actually longer than I thought it would be. Some names have been on this list for almost a year. Considering the city restoration project is still running about two years behind schedule, despite my efforts to get it back on track, I'm really not that surprised that the list is so long. Most of the old Dauntless sector is going to be rebuilt into residential areas. At least the project isn't as far behind as it was when I took it over.

I also have an image file open. I've kept this particular file for a very long time. It took me a while, but I was finally able to extract a decent image of Tris from the old security footage from the Dauntless headquarters. Her hair is loose around her shoulders, she's smiling, and her eyes are soft. It's the only image I've ever had of her. I don't open it often. In fact, I haven't looked at it in several years. I refused to delete it, even though I knew I probably should have. I'm glad now that I didn't. I only got to see that smile a few times when we were teenagers caught up in revolution, and now that I know she's still alive, I'd give anything to see it again in the flesh. The image will have to be enough, probably for a long time.

While running earlier this morning, I realized two things that I was too caught up in grief and rage to understand last night. The first realization is that I can't help Tris right now. She's too scared of me to trust me. She needs people who help her feel safe, who can help her fight. And thanks to faceless men who I don't even know, I am not one of those people.

The second thing that I realized was that the terror in her eyes stirred something darker in me, something that lurks deep beneath the surface of who I am, something about me that is broken and can never be fixed no matter how hard I try. I still revel in the power of physical violence, just as much as I did when I was a younger man, maybe more. Zeke won't spar with me as much as he used to because I bruised his ribs once when I lost myself in that rush of power. I know that I inherited that taste for violence from Marcus. It thrills me for the same reasons it thrills him. Holding the power to hurt someone and exercising it is a rush. I get off on it, and I know it.

One of my greatest fears is still that I will eventually become my father. Children of abusers statistically tend to become abusers. I know this not because I read it in an article in a waiting room several years ago, but because it is my reality. Marcus still represents the greatest threat to my character and identity, even though I have spent most of my life fighting that threat.

By the time I got back to my apartment this morning, I knew that the best thing that I can do for Tris is get her as far away from me as possible. Between her terror of me and the sadistic underbelly of my nature, she is better off without me. Of course, that knowledge did me no good when I walked through the door to find her sitting in my living room. The surge of possessiveness and protectiveness hit me like a moving train. As terrible as it's been to try to live without her for all this time, I know that I can't do it now that I know she's alive.

The computer cursor is hovering over the button that will submit Tris's name to the city's database, putting her on the housing wait list and assign her to a temporary dorm on the other side of the city. I know this is best for Tris. She needs the time and space to allow her memories to return, if they ever do. I have to find the strength to do what is best for her. But just before I click the button, I push back from my desk, sweat breaking out on my forehead. I'm caught between opposite sides of my own nature, and I don't have the strength of character to do what I know is best.

A flash of movement in the security monitor over my desk catches my eye. I take a closer look at the screen and grimace. I should have known it wouldn't take Zeke and Amar long to come after me. I did announce where I was going to Cara, Christina, and Tris, after all. I close the image file so they won't see it.

Zeke and Amar don't have to bother knocking on my door. I left it open when I came in, mostly out of habit. I like to keep it open during business hours as much as possible because I want the people who work for me to think that they can come to me with concerns. That I'm more approachable than a bed of nails, as Tris so aptly put it so long ago.

I nod at the other two men when they settle themselves in the chairs on the other side of my desk, but I let them pick the battle.

"Dude, that exit this morning was just painful," says Zeke. "My eyes were closed, but even I could see that you were scared shitless of her."

"Are we seriously going to have this conversation?"

"Yes," says Amar. "We are, because I haven't seen you this out of control since you were sixteen."

"You don't have to remind me," I say, clenching my jaw tight.

"So, what's the deal then?" Zeke asks. "I mean, I have an idea, but I might be wrong. So, best not to make me guess, because I can get cranky when I'm running on just a couple of hours of sleep."

I look down at my hands. I never told Amar that my fear landscape changed, all those years ago. I don't know that I want to tell them.

"Spit it out, Four," says Amar. "I know this has something to do with Marcus."

I glare at him.

"Yeah, you could say that," I say, not bothering to keep the venom out of my voice. "Just before I left Chicago all those years ago, I walked my fear landscape one last time, and it was different. Still four fears, but this time two of them had changed. You already know one of them, because I've spent the last 12 years living that nightmare. Care to guess the other?"

Both of them just sit in the chairs and stare at me expectantly. They're actually going to make me admit it, make me say the words. I don't want to, because that makes it feel so much more real.

"My greatest fear isn't just Marcus, himself. In that last run, I looked in the mirror and saw his face reflected back at me. I'm scared that I am my father's son, that I will become just like him." I pause for a moment and let myself breathe. "In her mind, I am worse than him, now. And I can't do anything about it. Tris is terrified of me, and there's nothing I can do to fix it." I swallow and my tongue feels thick. "But the part of this whole mess that scares me the most is that some sick and twisted thing inside me, the part that is Marcus's son, liked that fear."

Neither of them say anything. I don't think they know what to say, not that I blame them. Zeke's eyes are wide. He has no way to understand what goes on inside my head. His home life when he was growing up, while not ideal, was safe and nurturing. Amar just sits there grinding his teeth. I never knew much about his life prior to when I met him, but I really don't think that he understands it, either. I stare back at my computer monitor, but I don't actually see anything on the screen.

"You think she'll want to stay in the city?" Zeke asks, pointing at the data entry screen.

"I don't know," I say through a tight throat. "I was going to see if I could get her on the waiting list for her own place, just in case. But now that I know she's alive, I don't think I'm ever going to be able to let her leave me again."

"Shit," says Amar. "You are a special kind of fucked up masochist. You are aware of that, right?"

"The only one who knows that better than I do is you," I answer back. I decide to change the subject. "When will you all be debriefed?"

"Probably sometime early next week," says Amar. "I think Matthew and Caleb are expected back sometime this afternoon, and I'm pretty sure that their superiors are going to want to debrief Tris as soon as possible. You should probably be aware that there was some talk of moving her to a treatment facility where she can be assessed and rehabbed, probably an inpatient program of some kind. Caleb is trying to keep that from happening, but I don't know how successful he'll be."

So much for changing the subject. I nod at him.

"I suspected something like that," I answer him. The thought had occurred to me while I was on my run earlier this morning. As much as I'm relieved that they brought her to me when there was some risk from which I could protect her, I know that I am not equipped to help her right now. I am many things, but therapist and physician are not among my various qualifications. She'll certainly be safer away from me while I figure out how to deal with my own demons.

* * *

I don't put Tris on the waiting list. After sitting at my desk for a while after Zeke and Amar leave, I decide that I can't take Tris's choice of whether to stay away in Chicago from her. As much as I am compelled to hold onto her with all of my being, I know that she has to decide for herself how to live her life. Besides, if she ends up being admitted for inpatient therapy, it won't matter.

I walk back to my apartment rather than taking the bus like I did this morning. I left my truck in the parking garage attached to the building in which I live. It's a long walk, but I don't care. I focus on the sound of my feet on the pavement, emptying my mind. By the time I get to my apartment, I feel more like myself than I have since last night. I've regained the control I have spent most of my life mastering.

The door is locked, and I frown a little. When I unlock the knob and step inside, the place is empty and clean. A note is sitting on the bar.

_Four,_

_Went with Matthew and Caleb for debrief. Docs want to take a look at Tris. I'm staying with her. Meet us at Bureau HQ at O'Hare._

_Christina_

I turn right back around on my heels and I'm out the door before I have a chance to think about what I'm doing. Because there is no way I'm leaving Tris alone there. Not ever again.

It doesn't take long for me to drive from my apartment to the Bureau complex at the airport. Of course, I wasn't exactly driving safely. But I didn't get pulled over or arrested, so I really don't care. I park out front and show my identification at the security checkpoint, passing through the metal detectors with no trouble from my claustrophobia. I don't know exactly where to go, but I catch Matthew coming out of the hospital ward.

"Where is she?" I ask.

"That's what I'm trying to find out. She was supposed to be brought to the hospital ward, but they haven't seen her."

Caleb walks up from the other side of the corridor, breathing hard like he'd been running.

"She wasn't in any of the labs."

"That leaves the gene therapy rooms."

"Shit," says Caleb.

Matthew takes off toward the more secured labs, Caleb and I close on his heels.


	8. Chapter 8

_**Tris**_

I shouldn't have agreed to this. I've spent the last two hours sitting on a cold steel table as a team of doctors poke and prod at me. Christina is here with me, but I still ride the edge of panic over the fact that I am in a lab, surrounded by strangers who are looking at me as if I am a curiosity, a novelty for them to quantify and measure.

As I sit on the table, I remember bits and pieces of another time in another lab a long time ago. A small room with cameras. Being led through endless corridors by a boy who makes my skin crawl. A room with a metal table, a camera, and a heart monitor, being told by a blonde woman in blue that I will die here. Tests, injections, scans, an MRI machine, simulations, terror so deep I can't breathe. Tobias's face through a small window in a door, bloodshot eyes and tear-stained cheeks.

I hear a clatter in the hallway outside just before the door opens and Caleb storms in, his jaw set in a hard line. Matthew is behind him.

"I thought we agreed that this wasn't going to happen," he shouts at one of the doctors as he motions wildly at the others. He removes the electrodes over my temples and tugs at the wire to the one over my heart. "She just spent twelve years as a lab rat, and you put her back in a damned lab."

His voice is colored with unmistakable anger. As he helps me down from the table, I have a brief flash of memory of laying on the metal table, the blonde woman smiling, and Caleb. He betrayed me then. Did he betray me again? No, he's angry at these people, and he said I'm not supposed to be here. He hasn't betrayed me. He's trying to save me.

"But there are more tests—"

"That you can run in cooperation with the medical staff," interrupts Matthew.

"That area is not secure—"

"It's secure enough," says a deep voice in the hallway. I look up and stare into Tobias's dark blue eyes. I am caught in his gaze, waiting for him to change.

And his eyes aren't turning red.

I close my eyes and take a deep breath as Caleb guides me out of the lab. Once I'm outside the room, I can feel the anger coming off Tobias's body in waves. It is a hot and heavy thing, almost with a life of its own. I try not to concentrate on his anger and focus on my fighting own panic as memory after memory of another lab and another rescue overwhelms me. I take deep breaths as we walk farther away from the doctors and the lab, my heartbeat becoming more steady the farther we get from that room.

We don't stop until we get to the hospital wing. A couple of nurses rush to us, but Matthew knows exactly what to tell them to assure them that I'm not an emergency case. He flashes them his security clearance badge and asks for a private room. A few minutes later, Caleb guides me into a room that's larger, brighter, and warmer than the lab. It even has several windows and a view of the fields outside. He helps me to a bed that's already positioned for sitting upright. I ease onto the mattress and let Caleb fuss over me a little bit, covering my legs with a blanket and slipping a pillow behind my head.

"Better?" he asks me with an expectant look.

"Yes, thanks." I smile at him. It's a genuine smile, more for his sake than my own. A look crosses his face that I don't understand, but he nods at me and steps back.

Matthew approaches with something in his hand. It's a syringe. My heart stutters a beat and my stomach drops like a stone. But, rather than just giving me the injection of whatever is in the syringe, he holds it out to me.

"This holds a serum that's similar to the one I used when I scanned your DNA right after you showed up here all those years ago. It's a little different, because it doesn't go down to your DNA. It's meant as a more sophisticated CT scan. I'll be able to look at what they might have done to your brain."

My fingers tremble as I take the syringe. I can trust Matthew, I remind myself. I push the needle into my neck as if my hands have memories that my mind has lost. I give the empty syringe back to him as he pulls out a glass pad and taps it in a few places, I assume to turn on the program that will interpret the information the transmitters in the serum send it. Just as he sets it on the table next to the bed, a nurse and another doctor come into the room.

"Hi Tris, I'm William Carson, and I'm going to be overseeing your care today," he says with a kind smile. The nurse starts taking my vitals and I sigh heavily at the thought of more poking and prodding. I just want to be left alone to rest. And remember.

"I don't know why she wasn't brought to you immediately, Bill," says Matthew. "They didn't tell you she was here?"

"No," says Bill. "they didn't. Not that I'm surprised. The research and extraction teams haven't exactly been cooperative with me recently."

"Anyone care to clue the rest of us in on what's going on," asks Tobias from the far corner of the room where he's been leaning against the wall. He's speaking to Matthew and Bill, but he's looking directly at me. My face warms but I keep staring at his eyes.

And they aren't turning red.

"I picked Caleb and Tris up from your place this morning," says Matthew, "and brought them here because Caleb and I were supposed to be debriefed and the medical team was supposed to check Tris over for any immediate concerns and help us figure out if any long-term medical treatment is needed. At least, that was the agreement we had with the Bureau, otherwise I wouldn't have risked bringing her here. I don't know what happened, but I will find out."

"It doesn't matter now," I say. "I just want to finish the exam and get out of here." I don't add that all I really want to do is go home, because I'm not sure I have one.

Bill smiles at me kindly, but there's something in his eyes that I don't like.

"You're not going to let me leave, are you?" I try not to let my voice shake.

"Just for tonight," says Bill softly. "I want to keep you under observation to make sure that we don't miss anything. You'll most likely be free to go tomorrow morning. I don't think that we're going to find anything seriously wrong."

"I'll stay with you," says Christina.

"No," says Tobias, "I'll stay. You have to work in the morning."

Christina scowls at him. "I can call in."

"You can both stay," I say. "But only if you promise me you'll be able to make it to work, Christina. I know this is a big thing for you, but you can't put your life on hold for me. Either of you." I look from one of them to the other. Tobias nods and Christina shuffles on her feet and mutters her assent.

"And I'll only let either of you stay," says Bill, "if you both promise to let her rest. If at any time I begin to think that you're stressing her out in any way, I'll have you removed, forcibly if necessary." Bill is looking at Tobias, who says nothing in response.

I lay my head back against the pillow and close my eyes. I am suddenly tired. The nurse finishes taking my vitals, entering the readings on her glass pad, and leaves the room. Matthew and Bill exchange a few more words about coordinating scans and treatments, and I have to shut out their voices before I am swallowed by a feeling of helplessness. Someone tentatively brushes their fingers on my hand, and open my eyes to see Tobias sitting in the chair next to my bed. I look in his eyes again and the room narrows until we are the only ones here.

And his eyes aren't turning red.

I remember sitting next to him on a rock at the bottom of the chasm, his hand on the rock and our fingers aligned. The warmth of his hand next to mine. His face close to mine. His lips touching my temple. His mouth against mine. My fingers in his hair.

I grab his hand, wrapping my fingers around his. His eyes widen in surprise as he returns the small embrace, squeezing my fingers gently. Somewhere inside me, I feel a knot of tension release. I close my eyes and let myself drift off to sleep.

* * *

I wake up an hour or so later and Tobias is still next to me and holding my hand, but his head is on the mattress and he's fallen asleep. I spend a few minutes looking at him as he sleeps. He looks much like he did in the last memory I had before falling asleep, with only small lines around the corners of eyes that show the passage of time. I don't know how I could ever have been so terrified of him when I see him like this. I remove my hand from his and touch his cheek. He startles a little and wakes up, then looks at me and smiles.

And his eyes aren't turning red.

I smile at him.

"Hi," he says sleepily.

"Hi," I say back. "Have a nice nap?" I ask with a snicker.

He sits up and winces, then leans back and stretches his back and neck. "Oddly enough, no, not really," he says.

"I can't imagine why not," I tease.

He falls silent, and his eyebrows draw together. He takes my hand again and clears his throat before speaking.

"What did you remember before you took my hand?" he asks.

"The chasm. The first time you kissed me. That was my first kiss."

He nods at me and says, "Good memory."

The somber look remains on his face. His eyebrows are drawn together and his lips are pursed in thought. He watches me apprehensively, as if he's expecting me to panic and start screaming at any moment. That idea had crossed my mind when he first woke up, before his eyes stayed blue. But the longer his eyes hold mine, I know that there's more to his expression than just apprehension. I see some of the hurt that was there this morning, and something else I can't put my finger on.

"What's wrong, Tobias?"

He clears his throat and answers my question with one of his own.

"How much do you remember about me, Tris? From before the nightmares, I mean."

I swallow, my tongue sticking to the top of my mouth. I close my eyes as flashes of memory start to surface. "You helping me out of the net. The Ferris wheel. Your hand on my stomach on the first day of training. The kiss in the chasm. Falling asleep on a blue patchwork quilt and breathing into your pillow. Seeing you through the window in the door at the Erudite compound." I stop talking as the memories start coming faster and faster. There are lies and secrets and hurt and anger mixed in with the good memories, and a choice made so long ago that none of that mattered as long as I had him.

I open my eyes and he's looking at me expectantly. "There are more, but some of them don't make sense, and there are a lot of holes and gaps. But it's enough to know that I don't need to be scared of you."

"Do you remember my fear landscape?"

I hesitate, trying to fit the words with an image or emotion, but nothing pulls to the surface. I shake my head and he sighs.

"What?" I ask.

"Nothing, at least for right now. I'm not ready to talk about it and I don't think you're ready for the whole story. I don't want to overwhelm you so soon."

I look at his eyes, dark blue eyes, and try to examine what I see on his face. There is a lot of pain in his expression. The pain is mixed in with regret and fatigue. I don't like that he's hiding things from me, but he's not going to tell me whatever it is that he wants me to remember. I think it's probably the same thing that Zeke was talking about this morning, but the memory stays buried despite my attempts to drag it to the surface.

"Christina was wrong about you, by the way," I say.

"Oh, really?" He raises his eyebrows. "And what is she wrong about?"

"There's no way you have a reputation for being a stone-faced stoic."

He scoffs at me.

"Is that so?" He whispers as he brings his face closer to mine.

"Yeah, you seem pretty easy to read to me," I say as I smile at him.

Before he can respond, someone knocks on the door. I turn to see Bill walk in the room, a glass pad in his hand. Tobias winces and pulls back. I groan.

"Just checking in before I finish my rounds," he says cheerfully. "No poking this time, I swear." He doesn't say anything else for a moment while he reads whatever is on the screen. He pulls a stylus out of the pocket of his white coat and scribbles something on the pad, then puts it under his arm and looks back at me. "We have a little bit of news for you. Matthew is still analyzing the brain scan, but it doesn't look like there's been any permanent physical damage to your body and your toxicology and blood work came back clean. Other than being underweight and some muscle atrophy due to lack of use, things appear to be normal. We're going to try to get you started on a high-calorie diet and I'm going to recommend that you start physical therapy in a couple of weeks after you've gained some weight."

"So, does that mean I don't have to stay overnight?" I ask hopefully.

Bill smiles at me. "Oh, you won't get out of that so easily. We still want you to stay tonight. I want to make sure that there aren't problems while you sleep."

"Fine," I grumble.

"An aide should be in soon with some food, but I won't blame you if you skip it in favor of something a little more tasty." He winks at me and then leaves.

"So," says Tobias, "what do you want for dinner?"

A memory stirs and it makes me smile.

"Think we can find some muffins?" I ask.

He laughs. And it's a good laugh.

* * *

I sleep fitfully. Tobias stays with me most of the night, but that isn't helpful when I wake up screaming and drenched in sweat from a nightmare in which the demon version of him is tearing into my belly with its clawed hands. After I wake up, I recoil from him before I realize that his eyes are still blue. Christina has to help me settle down long enough to breathe and think through the panic, and by that time Tobias has left the room.

I refuse the sedative that the night shift doctor tries to offer me. He doesn't understand why I don't want to take it, but at least he listens to me when I insist that I don't need the drugs. After the doctor, nurses, and aides leave, Tobias returns. He looks haggard and worn and his blue eyes show me that he is hurt. But they stay blue. He takes his place in the chair next to my bed, and I take his hand again. He leans over me and puts his forehead next to mine. We stay like that for a moment, breathing each other's air before he kisses my forehead and tells me to sleep. After that, I don't dream for the rest of the night.

Christina has to leave sometime around 6:30 in the morning, so I miss when she leaves because I'm still asleep. I'm somewhat relieved that Tobias is the only one there when I wake up. Of course, the relief doesn't last long when Bill walks in the room.

"Good morning, Tris," he says. He's still smiling like he did yesterday, but there's a tightness around his eyes that makes me sit a little straighter.

"Good morning, Doctor."

"Please, just call me Bill." He looks over his glass pad and frowns just a little. "Well, it was mostly an uneventful night, but there was one small incident. You woke up from a nightmare and refused a sedative?"

I nod my head, tucking my hair behind my ears. "I'm a little over the whole sleeping drug phase."

"Well, I guess that means you won't take sleeping pills, either, if you have trouble sleeping after you leave."

"Probably not," I say, forcing a hard edge into my voice. "I'm sure you can understand why."

"Of course," he says, smiling again and pulling his bedside manner back together. "We're just going to have to figure out a better way to help you sleep if the nightmares become a problem. I'm going to see if I can set you up with a friend of mine who is a therapist in the city. She specializes in traumatic stress cases. She might be able to help. I'll add it to the orders for your discharge. As soon as the paperwork is finalized, you'll be good to go. Just give us another hour or so."

Bill smiles at me again before he turns and walks out. I breathe a sigh of relief. I'm not going to be trapped here. I can leave soon. But where am I going to go?

* * *

**Author's note:** Hey, everyone! Thanks so much for all of the reviews, follows, and favorites! I'm glad that you're all enjoying this little story. I know I've been keeping a rapid pace with the updates, and I'm going to continue to try to get them out as quickly as possible. However, I've posted all of the ones that I'd written ahead of time, so I may not be able to post daily from this point and ongoing. I want the quality of the work to continue to be what you've read to this point, so if a chapter's not ready by the end of the night, it might a day or two before it gets posted. Just be patient with me! :)


	9. Chapter 9

_**Tobias**_

The nightmare last night shook me to my core, and the fact that Tris cowered away from me made my blood run cold. No part of me enjoyed that, not on any level, not even the part likes violence. The fear in her eyes was a living thing. The screams still ring in my ears this morning. And I know that the nightmares are not over. There will be more.

This morning, the exhaustion from the past two days is almost overwhelming. It's more than lack of sleep, though that on its own is bad enough. I haven't experienced emotional stress and upheaval like this since—well, since I was eighteen.

I sit on the floor outside Tris's room, my arms propped on my knees and my face in my hands, while she takes a shower and gets dressed. Cara brought some clothes for Tris with her this morning on her way to her own debriefing. It's a good thing we have friends.

We.

I let that word rest in my mind. Are Tris and I really "we" again? Can we be that now? Is that even smart?

I had dared last night to let myself hope that maybe we could be together again, that we'd be able to pick up again where we left off twelve years ago. Even now, remembering how she took my hand yesterday afternoon causes my blood to heat. Parts of my body, heart, and mind are more than ready for the possibility that we could be us again, that we can figure this out together. Time has passed, but maybe we fit together the same way we did so long ago.

But that thought is immediately followed by her screams and the look in her eyes earlier this morning, causing my heated blood to cool. The truth is that neither of us have been left untouched by time, that we have both changed. I know that I am not the same person I was when I was twelve years ago, and I can see that she isn't either, for all of the obvious reasons and even some that aren't so obvious. Maybe we don't fit anymore.

I close my eyes and tilt my head back, bouncing it lightly against the wall. I have to figure this out and get my shit together. No other woman on the face of the planet has ever had me so tied up in knots. I run my hand over my hair and scratch the back of my neck, blowing out a deep breath that I didn't know I was holding.

The door next to me opens and I turn to look up at Tris. I still can't believe it's her. I keep waiting to wake up and find that this entire weekend has been a long practical joke, one of the cruelest kind. This isn't the first time that I've found out I've been tricked into grieving over someone who never died.

She smiles at me, and I am once again a lost eighteen-year-old boy in love. I stand up and grin at her. That smile is the one I've missed so much, the one in the photo on my computer. I draw her to me and her body stiffens a moment before she relaxes against me with a deep breath. I kiss the top of her head as my chest squeezes around my heart. I feel like I might shatter when she puts her small hands on my waist.

"Ready to go?" I ask with my lips still touching her head. I feel more than see her nod. I take her hand and lead her down the hallway to the rest of the compound. Matthew meets us at the entrance to the hospital wing.

"Three jail-breaks in two days, Tris?" he asks, his tone light. "That has to be some kind of record."

"Yeah, well," she says, her voice clear and strong, "people keep mistaking me for a lab rat." Her tone is light, but her words are firm.

Matthew holds up his hands, conceding the point.

"Caleb and I are sticking around here for a bit," he says. "There were some interesting results on your scan yesterday that we want to examine a little closer. Nothing bad," he says as she stiffens. "Just some things that we didn't expect to see that might be able to use to develop some things to help, is all. And in no way does any of it require you coming down to the labs."

Tris relaxes again and nods at him.

"Thank you," she says. "For everything."

Matthew nods at us and leaves.

We take our time walking back out to the parking lot where my truck is parked. The silence is somewhat strained, but not entirely unpleasant. I can tell just by looking at her that she's lost in thought, or maybe memories. As we walk, I can't keep myself from rubbing my thumb along her forefinger, because just holding her hand isn't enough contact.

I have to help Tris climb into my truck since it sits a good distance above the ground. She grumbles under her breath about the size of the vehicle and overcompensation and I can't help but chuckle. Because I'm obsessive that way, I make sure to secure the seat belt myself, finding it very hard to resist the need to kiss her before I pull back and shut the door.

I'm much more careful on the drive back to the city than I was yesterday afternoon, keeping both hands on the steering wheel and easing my foot off the pedal to maintain a safe speed. I glance at the clock when we're about halfway back to the city and swear under my breath.

"What's wrong?" Tris asks.

"I forgot about something," I say, returning my eyes to the road. "I have a standing appointment with Evelyn, my mother, for brunch every week. I was supposed to meet her half an hour ago. I'm already late and we won't be back to the city for a while yet. She'll probably be waiting at my apartment when we get there, since she has the key. With all of the excitement, I forgot to call and cancel. She doesn't know, yet."

I risk a glance at Tris and her eyebrows are drawn together. I can almost see her struggle to force herself to remember. I've always been amused by those who had aptitude for Erudite. Watching them process information is fascinating. For Tris right now, though, it's almost as if some of the cogs in the clock works are missing teeth and slipping on one another. It almost hurts to watch.

"It's okay if you don't remember her," I say as I take her hand and lift it so I can press my lips to the back of it. "I'm more worried about her reaction to this than anything. You two weren't exactly fond of one another way back when."

"Great," she says dryly. "This is going to be fun."

"You and I must have very different definitions of the word 'fun,"" I say with a smirk, letting go of her hand to take the wheel again. There is no way that I can imagine for them to meet on good terms right now. Maybe I should have listened to Christina last year when she tried to persuade me to get a mobile phone. I haven't seen the need for one until now. Giving Evelyn some advanced warning would be the polite thing to do. It isn't going to go over too well when I walk through the door holding the hand of the girlfriend who is supposed to be dead.

"Will you tell me about her?"

I open my mouth to answer and then close it again, not sure what to say. I can't explain Evelyn without getting into Marcus, and I just don't want to go there right now.

"We were estranged for a very long time when I was younger," I say, choosing my words carefully. "I didn't have much contact with her after I was about nine. I thought she'd died. She showed up again right around the time I turned eighteen. Things were sour between us for a couple of years after that. We've managed to put most of it behind us, though."

I can hear her teeth grinding, then she sighs deeply. I take another glance at her out of the corner of my eye but she's turned her head to look out the window. That's not a good sign.

"Someday, very soon," she says slowly, "I'm going to get tired of all of the careful words and half-truths that everyone keeps giving me."

I wince at the hurt I can hear in those words. But before I can respond, she continues, her voice hardening with a strength that she could never really lose, no matter what is done to her.

"Let me make myself very clear, Tobias Eaton, so there will be no confusion. It would be good for everyone to remove the kid gloves soon. I may have lost my physical strength and the majority of my memory, but I will not allow anyone to operate under the illusion that I am weak. I will permit you all to hover and fuss until the shock wears off, for your sakes more than mine. But I will not let it go on a moment longer than necessary. And then, if I don't remember in the meantime, I will want real answers."

This time when I risk taking my eyes off the road and look at her eyes, they glint with the coolness of steely resolve. I realize that I missed that strength more than I ever missed her smile, because it's a hell of a turn-on.

The rest of the drive is spent in silence, and this time it's painfully awkward. I keep my hands on the wheel and my eyes on the road, trying to ignore my anatomical reaction to Tris's proclamation. I grind my jaw the entire rest of the way into the city and have a raging headache by the time I park the truck.

I hurry around to the passenger side to help her down, regretting the decision not to get running boards put on the vehicle when I bought it last year. I bought that model because I need the ground clearance when visiting construction sites, and my legs are long enough that I didn't think the accessory package was necessary. Seems I was wrong.

Evelyn's car is parked in the first row of the guest lot on the first level of the garage. There's no getting out of this, and I wince a bit at the thought of how the next ten minutes or so are likely to pass. No matter how I look at it, awkward is about the best I can expect. Painful is more likely, for all of us.

I keep hold of Tris's hand as we make our way up to my apartment. Her hand is small in mine, but her grip is sure. Before I open the door, I look in her eyes as if to ask her if she's ready. She must understand the unspoken question because she nods firmly.

Evelyn is lounging on one of my chairs reading a book. She stopped sitting on the edge of things years ago, when her mind was finally able to convince her body that there was no need to be perpetually ready to flee at a moment's notice. When we walk in the door, I make sure that I'm standing in front of Tris, just to give her that extra bit of time to adjust.

"Tobias," Evelyn says with obvious relief. She stands and says, "I've been worried sick. Where have you been? And I saw a note—"

She stops abruptly and stares, slack-jawed, as Tris moves out from behind me. No one says anything for a few minutes. I clear my throat and scratch the back of my neck.

"Hi, Mom," I try to make my voice light. "You remember Tris?" I watch them both carefully, unsure exactly what to expect.

"Beatrice," my mother says, forcing a smile. "How good to see you again, especially in light of certain circumstances."

Shit. She's being polite. That's never a good sign.

"It's good to see you, too, Ms. Johnson," Tris says, also the image of polite perfection.

I may be in more trouble than I realized.

"Well," Evelyn says a bit too happily, "Now that I know you're safe, Tobias, I'll be on my way." She eyes Tris up and down. "I see that you have other things to take care of at the moment."

Evelyn moves to step around me, but I hold up my hand.

"Wait, Mom. Please, don't leave yet."

"If you'll excuse me, please," says Tris, "I'm just going to step into the restroom." She rushes through the living room to the bedroom and shuts the door.

Evelyn turns to me.

"What on earth is going on, here, Tobias?" Her eyes burn with fury. "Were you planning on telling me anything about this? How long has she been here?"

"Mom, settle down. It's a really long story." I motion to the chair she just left. "Please, sit. I'll tell you." She does as I ask and I repeat the story as faithfully as I can. Her eyes widen the farther into the story I get, especially when I get to the part about the simulations. When I'm done, she just sits in her chair, looking at me with a thoughtful look on her face.

"I swear, I'm not lying," I say quickly. "I can give you phone numbers for Matthew and Caleb. They'll probably be able to tell it more capably than I just did."

"Oh, I believe you," she says quietly. "It's all a bit to outrageous to be a fabrication, and I could tell by looking at her that Tris is not exactly whole." She sits back in the chair. "What are your plans?"

"It's kind of up to Tris."

"Does she remember everything about you? About your father?"

I shake my head. "No, she doesn't. And I haven't told her yet. I will, just not before it's necessary."

"Better to tell her now," she says and motions behind me to the bedroom door.

I turn around and see Tris. She stands in the doorway wearing a closed and guarded expression on her face. I don't know how I didn't hear when she opened the door. I must have been too involved in telling the story to notice. She's looking at Evelyn, and I can't tell what she's thinking.

"What is there to tell me, Evelyn?" she asks, her voice steady. I close my eyes and bow my head, dreading what I know is coming because I can't stop my mother from sharing it; it's her story, too. Before she starts speaking, I have to stand up and pace in front of the kitchen, unable to sit still.

"Marcus was, is, a controlling person. He was naturally inclined toward it, but his position as a council member and leader among the Abnegation made him paranoid about the impression that we, his wife and son, would give of him. He would have been that way even if he wasn't Divergent. To keep us in line so that he would appear to be the perfect model of Abnegation selflessness, he abused us both, physically and emotionally, punishing us for any behavior he thought was unacceptable. I had an affair because he drove me into the arms of another man, and when Marcus found out that my second child, a daughter, was not his own, he beat me severely enough that I went into labor prematurely and the child didn't survive it."

I lift my head at that. She's never told me that the baby wasn't Marcus's child. I wish she had, not that it changes anything. I stopped grieving for my sibling, my sister, years ago.

"After that, I left Abnegation to become factionless. Tobias was very young, too young to understand what was happening, so I let him believe that I was dead. I didn't take him with me because I thought that he would be better off within the faction system, even with a father who beat him, rather than being forced outside of society to live on the streets. I have never regretted anything else more in my life."

I forgave my mother a long time ago for abandoning me to my father. We haven't spoken of it in years. Today, I am surprised at the regret and hurt in her voice. I expected her to be straightforward about it. But the emotion I hear now is from a woman who has never forgiven herself. I look at my mother. There are unshed tears in her eyes.

"Mom, it's okay," I say. "I forgave you a long time ago. You know that."

"I know," she says and she smiles at me. "But that doesn't mean that I can ever, ever forgive myself. I'm just grateful that you've allowed me to become part of your life again."

"And that's not going to change," says Tris. "Not because of me."

"Well," Evelyn says as she stands. "Now that I know what's been happening, I'll be leaving the two of you to yourselves. I'm sure that you have a lot to work through." She digs through her purse for her keys and pulls out a piece of paper.

"Oh," she says very crisply, her tone blunt. "I almost forgot this in all of the excitement. Your father is in Chicago. I ran into him last week while I was having lunch with a friend, and I'm sure it wasn't by accident that he was in the same place at the same time. Before you jump to any conclusions, nothing happened, but he did ask me to pass this on to you. I told him I would but not to expect you to return the gesture."

She hands me the paper. It has a phone number on it. My skin crawls.

"Please tell me that this isn't his number. What did he do to convince you to give it to me?"

Evelyn holds up her hand. "It is his number, and he didn't do anything. I would say that he seemed contrite, but we both know how well he lies, so that isn't why I agreed to give it to you. You're a grown man. You can choose to do what you want with it. By the way, you'll be proud of me. There may have been a handprint on his cheek after I slapped him."

She smiles at me and gives me a hug. Things have never been perfect between me and my mother. No relationship is ever perfect. But we have reconciled, and that's better than I ever dared to hope when I was younger.

Evelyn moves to stand in front of Tris, a smile on her face. She puts her hands on Tris's shoulders and says, "It really is good to see you. I know that I said some things to you all those years ago, out of jealousy, that I had no right to say. I was wrong and I've wished for the last ten years that I would have had a chance to apologize to you. You may not have been here all this time, but you've always been in his heart, and there's nothing temporary about you."

Evelyn presses a small kiss to the middle of Tris's forehead and I have to control the urge to gasp. It's an old Abnegation gesture, a blessing normally given when a son introduces his fiancée to his parents. I was certain that I would never see it for my own situation.

"You are welcome in our family, Beatrice Prior," she says with a smile.

A single tear falls down Tris's cheek as she nods at my mother.

"Tobias, please walk with me to my car. I'm afraid I didn't wear shoes that are sensible enough for the distance," Evelyn says lightly.

I glance at Tris, still standing in front of my mother. She nods at me, and I take that to mean that she'll be alright until I return. I nod back and follow my mother out the door.

"I'm sorry I never told you about Eleanor, your sister," she says softly while we're in the elevator. "I kept it to myself because I was selfish enough that I didn't want anyone else to know."

"It's okay, Mom," I answer. "It doesn't change what happened. I wish I had known, but I can understand why you didn't say anything."

"Are you going to contact him?" she asks as she points at the crumpled paper I still have in my hand.

"I don't know," I answer as I fold it up and put it in my pocket. "I certainly don't want to. But if he's in Chicago, I need to be the one to run him out of town on a rail."

The doors open with a chime and we walk into the lobby.

"Listen, Tobias," she says as we step outside the doors, "be careful with Beatrice. I'm not trying to warn you off or change your mind. I meant what I said up there about her being permanent. But with all that's happened, and the state that her mind must be in, just take it slowly and allow her to heal before you let things become any more serious. You have the time." She smiles again and hugs me before getting into her car. I wave as she drives away, still a little confused as to how that went as well as it did.


	10. Chapter 10

_**Tris**_

On shaking legs, I walk across the apartment and pour myself a glass of water to soothe my suddenly-dry throat and then return to the living room. After taking a drink or two, I put my glass on the coffee table before I ease down onto the cushions, folding my knees up to my chest. I take a deep breath to steady myself while I wait for Tobias to return.

I don't know what I was expecting, meeting Tobias's mother. Or, rather meeting her again. I remembered our one conversation so long ago right after I saw her. She's changed in the time since. She's softer than I remember, more accepting. Evelyn is much more at peace with herself now than she was then. But I don't know if I trust it. I suppose it helps that she's had years to mend things between herself and Tobias. I am no longer a threat to that reconciliation, so her acceptance might be genuine. Only time will tell.

I remembered Tobias's fear landscape as she told me about Marcus. I understand why Tobias didn't want to talk about it. It can't be an easy thing to discuss. But I am not happy that he didn't trust me enough to tell me himself, and I don't believe for even one second that he was planning on telling me. He was going to wait for me to remember on my own, if I ever did.

This feeling of exclusion is familiar to me. I may not remember all of the details of our relationship, but what I have remembered is enough to know that a good majority of it was tainted by secrets and lies. And I know that I am responsible for my part in that taint, that I kept secrets and told lies, that at least half of the damage we did to each other was my fault.

The memory of the fear landscape lead to the memory of his confession in Candor. Those who were born Dauntless considered his transfer from Abnegation an act of cowardice because he was trying to run from his father. Those of us who transferred in, both before and after, knew better. My memories of life under the faction system might still be incomplete, but I remember enough to know that everyone who transferred factions was running from something. It didn't matter the faction from which we came or the one to which we ran; we were all trying to escape from something. Tobias just had a better reason to run than the rest of us. It took two years of physical and mental training that he could only get in Dauntless for Tobias to be prepared to take on his father in a fair fight. And even then, he would have lost because Marcus groomed Tobias to be terrified of him.

It's feels strange to remember the things that I've forgotten. I remember sights, sounds, emotions, and impressions, but it's almost as if all of it happened to someone else. I'm sure it all happened, and I'm certain it all happened to me. All of it feels like truth. But integrating it all is hard when I'm catching up on years all at once, and it's complicated when I don't remember everything in order. Maybe it will feel real again after I've finished remembering it all and can put it all in sequence.

The most confusing part is Tobias, himself. It's clear that he loves me just as much as he ever did, that he's spent more than a decade alone because he would never allow himself to love again. He loved me enough all those years ago to choose to stay in Dauntless for me rather than join the factionless and his mother. I remember loving him so deeply my heart ached with the regret that I chose to possibly go to my death so soon after deciding to fix our relationship. But he is almost a stranger to me now. I'm surprised that admitting that to myself hurts on some level. Hurt doesn't equal love, though. And this is the question that will probably take the most time for me to answer: do I still love him?

Tobias startles me out of my contemplation when he opens the door. He stands just inside it and looks at me. That small fright nearly morphs into panic, but I force myself to breathe normally and look in his eyes. His blue eyes. Dark blue, like the sky on the other side of the sunset.

His eyes aren't turning red.

The panic subsides and I close my eyes and take a deep breath to calm my still-racing heartbeat. When I open my eyes again, Tobias is still standing just inside the door, looking at me as if he expects me to fly into hysteria at any moment. I don't blame him for his apprehension. He finally moves after my breathing and heartbeat return to normal, crossing the room slowly before sitting on the floor in front of the couch, facing me with one leg bent and one arm slung across his knee. The position of his body would suggest ease if his posture wasn't so rigid with what I can only assume is apprehension.

"That went better than you expected, I'd guess," I say.

"Yeah," he says as he rubs the back of his neck. "You could say that."

"Things are better between you and your mom than I remember."

"I gave her a choice the day that you—well, the day that I thought I lost you. It's the biggest reason I wasn't at the Bureau when you went into the vault," he says as he grinds his jaw, "I gave her one last chance to be my mother. The ultimatum was her crusade or her son."

"And she chose you," I say, my voice soft and a smile tugging at the corners of my mouth.

"Yeah," he says with a grin that melts my heart. "It still took a couple of years after the end of the war before things were easy between us. When she came back to Chicago and found her own place, she started seeing a therapist who suggested we started the weekly brunch ritual. I got to tell her about you, the whole story, and I think she finally saw you helped me to overcome some of the damage that Marcus left in his wake. She's actually told me more than once that she wished she'd had the opportunity to apologize to you for what she said."

"I was surprised that she did," I say. "I don't know what I was expecting, but it wasn't that. And I certainly wasn't expecting the blessing."

"Neither was I," he says.

We fall into an awkward silence for a few moments. He watches me carefully. I struggle for the words for what I ask next, because I know that the rest of this discussion could hurt both of us.

"When were you planning to tell me about your father this time?" I ask as I hug my knees closer to my chest and rest my cheek against them.

He clears his throat and lowers his eyes, the tops of his ears turning pink.

"To be honest, I was hoping that you would remember first." He reaches up and tucks a stray lock of my hair behind my ear. "Thanks to the Erudite and the Candor, it's a matter of public record. I've always been ashamed of it, if you remember. I had to take you through my fear landscape when you were an initiate because I couldn't even tell you my real name. But it's not just my story to tell, so I couldn't really keep Evelyn from telling you."

"I remember your fear landscape," I say, tentatively. "Yesterday, at the hospital when I remembered the kiss in the chasm, I also remembered you telling me you appreciated me not looking at you like a kicked puppy. It didn't make sense yesterday, but it does now. Did you think that would be my reaction this time? That I'd pity you if you told me?"

He hesitates for a moment before nodding his head. "It isn't the only reason I didn't want to talk about it, but now that I think about it, yeah, you could say that. I can take a lot of things. But I don't tolerate pity well. I don't give it to anyone and I resent when others give it to me." His eyes search mine. "Pity is for people who are weak. I've always felt that way."

"I could never pity you, Tobias," I say, surprised by the steel in my own voice. "You're a survivor, not a victim."

"Your opinion of the situation is in the minority, unfortunately," he says. His voice is soft, but I can hear the resentment and pain behind them.

"I wasn't aware that you cared that much about the opinions of people who don't matter."

"I don't," he says, his eyebrows lifting in surprise.

"Do any of your friends care enough about it that it's altered their opinions of you?"

"No, not that I'm aware of."

"And do the people you work with think less of you because of it?" He shakes his head at me. "Then the people who pity you don't matter."

He looks at me for a moment, the shocked expression on his face lingering for a moment as he processes through the logic. Then he grins at me.

"I keep forgetting you had aptitude for Erudite."

"Better be careful. Some might consider that an insult, if I remember correctly." I smile at him briefly and then sigh. The rest of this is not going to be easy. "What was the real reason you didn't want to tell me about Marcus?"

There is no way to be prepared for what he tells me next, that his fear landscape changed for the first and only time right before we left the city on that mission for the Allegiant. My gut clenches at the raw pain on his face, still fresh even after all this time, when he tells me that losing me became one of his greatest nightmares. It is a fear that I gave him when I left him on my suicide march to Erudite, a nightmare that he's lived with for so long because I couldn't sacrifice my brother, who betrayed both me and our parents, at the Bureau. And then he tells me of his fear of becoming his father, of losing all he is and all he has become to the cycle of abuse, and my blood freezes in my veins as the pieces all fall into place. He steadies my hands before I realize they're shaking.

"That's why you were so hurt yesterday morning in the bathroom. They showed you the video file. It was your greatest fear come to life."

He swallows hard and nods his head, keeping his eyes low so he doesn't have to look into my own.

"Tobias, despite all that they made me forget, I know that there's no way you could ever hurt me. Not like Marcus hurt your mother. If I was really scared of you, do you think I'd be sitting here, right now, with no one to protect me from you?"

"The panic attacks and the nightmares are about me, Tris." His voice cracks, something I don't think I've ever heard from him.

"No," I say, shaking my head firmly. I put my fingers under his chin and make him look me in the eyes. "Those are about a demon grafted onto your image and fed to me to confuse, brutalize, and terrify me. And the only reason it worked is because they altered my perception and memories of reality. It only takes a few moments of me looking in your eyes for me to know that you are not that demon, and that's after only being back in the real world for about 36 hours."

He takes a deep breath as if to argue the point.

"Stop," I interrupt before he can begin talking again, putting a finger over his lips. "Trust me. It will take time, but the panic attacks will eventually stop happening at all." I know that I'm lying, but I try to keep it out of my expression. I have no way to know for sure that I'll ever be able to look at him again without expecting him to become a monster, but I have to believe that it will or I'll go insane. "I haven't even been back for two days yet. Just always let me see your eyes when I start to flip out and I'll be fine."

"And if you have another nightmare like this morning?" His voice is tight.

"I don't know," I say. "That's something we may have to figure out as we go. Maybe I should stay with Christina for a while until they go away."

The disappointment on his face nearly crushes me. I put my hand on his jaw and remember him telling me once that he would be my family when I thought I had none. He presses a kiss to my palm, and it's as if lightning strikes me in that exact spot, spreading through me and waking a need that gnaws at my core. More memories rise to the surface and this time I let myself get swept away in dozens of kisses, touches, and embraces. Our entire relationship plays itself out in my mind in an instant, ending with an evening on a couch in an empty room at the Bureau compound. I feel heat in my cheeks.

"What?" he asks, raising an eyebrow. I shake my head and he grins at me, seeing the obvious embarrassment in my eyes. "What did you just remember?"

"The couch. Empty room at the Bureau compound, just beyond the dormitory. My first time."

He smiles and laughs, and I can't mistake the look of male satisfaction on his face for anything except what it is.


	11. Chapter 11

_**Author's Note:**_Trigger warning: there are mentions of rape in this chapter. There are no graphic depictions, so I'm not changing the rating, but if you are disturbed by even the hint and mention of it, please consider yourself warned in advance.

* * *

_**Tris**_

I spend the next several weeks in a haze. My days are spent with Christina, who is the evening and weekend shift manager at a clothing boutique in the commercial district. In the evenings, I spend time with Tobias, but usually the two of us are never alone together. Caleb is around a lot, and I can't help but think that he feels like he's got something to prove to me. I might try to tell him the fact that he spent the last twelve years of his life looking for me is enough, but I don't think he'll ever see it that way. Between them and the rest of our friends, I hardly have a moment to myself.

I start seeing the therapist Bill recommended almost immediately, and she helps me with some techniques to manage the panic and exercises designed to help me integrate the memories. They seem to help, but they're not nearly as effective as I'd hoped. She assures me that it will take time to remember everything and for all of it to start making sense, and that the journals and timelines will help. I'm not optimistic that it will all come back.

By the end of the second week, I've gained enough weight that the doctors let me start physical therapy. I thought it would be all about running and lifting weights, like the work outs that I've been watching Tobias do with Zeke, Amar, and George at the gym, but I was wrong. Most of the time that I'm in therapy, they use electrodes and ultrasound equipment to stimulate the muscles in my legs, back, and arms. There are a few resistance exercises using what looks like large rubber bands, and I'm surprised by how difficult it is to finish them. The physical therapist tells me it won't always be that way, but it may take some time before the atrophied muscles are ready for anything more intensive. Since I still can't walk for more than about twenty minutes on a treadmill before my legs are aching from exhaustion, I take his word for it.

In order to have access to the city's medical services, I had to register with the mayor's office. The physical therapist practically forced me to take his letter in for a medical exemption from the work requirements, but he finally proved his point when I couldn't stand up for thirty minutes straight. According to the rules, I should have moved into the dorms they reserve for people waiting for apartments, but Christina wouldn't have it and insisted that I stay with her. I'm pretty sure that Tobias would have objected, too.

The nightmares haven't abated since the hospital. I still have them every night. The situations are usually different from night to night, but they all feature the demon version of Tobias. And I know that they're worse than just figments of my imagination; I know that they are memories of simulations at best and actual events at worst. Sometimes, I wake up and see a scar on my body that matches the dream. I can't tell Tobias what the demon does to me, because it would cause him needless pain and won't help me at all. So, after Christina helps me calm down every night, I put my face down in my pillow and cry, because I've never felt so helpless, not even when I was attacked during initiation by Peter, Drew, and Al.

People keep telling me to be patient, that remembering and recovering will take time. But I have never considered patience to be on the short list of virtues I possess, at least not when it doesn't directly serve my purpose. There are still gaping holes in my memory, even though I remember more and more every day, but the nightmares and physical weakness concern me more. They make me feel vulnerable in a way that the amnesia doesn't. Amnesia doesn't prevent me from being able to function or protect myself. Amnesia is frustrating, but not debilitating.

I don't think that Tobias knows what to do with me. I know he wants more from me than I am able to give him, both physically and emotionally, but he never pushes for more. He lets me make all of the first moves, only ever touching me when I either need help with something or I initiate the contact. It should be comforting, but it's not. The coddling makes me feel more fragile, more damaged, more incomplete. He's a softer man than I remember and I miss the steel and strength of Four, the Dauntless instructor. He used to push me, and I remember that he once said that his first instinct was to push me until I break, just to see how hard he would have to press. I became better, stronger, sharper under that pressure, like the knife against the whetstone to which I once compared us. That pressure is what I desperately need, but I can't figure out a way to tell him that the patience and deference are smothering and, in some ways, insulting.

* * *

About a month after my rescue, Christina decides she wants to have a dinner party and invites everyone that I know. And by everyone, I mean everyone except my doctors and therapists. Zeke, Shauna, Amar, George, Matthew, Caleb, and Cara are all on the guest list. Christina manages to bully Tobias into hosting, since her apartment isn't big enough for all of us to be in the same room.

I don't know how I'm going to manage to actually make it through dinner because just the shopping and preparing and cooking have already made for a long day. By the time the first guests, Amar and George, knock on the door, I'm exhausted enough that I don't feel capable of moving from my spot on the end of the couch. Tobias officially banned me from the kitchen about an hour earlier and though I know he's right when he says I've done more than I should, I want to argue with him over it. But I don't because I know that now is not the time to pick the fight that I've known is coming for weeks. I just sit on the couch like a good invalid and sip at the wine Christina poured for me.

Zeke and Shauna are the next to arrive. Shauna is in her wheelchair, but Zeke helps her sit in one of the armchairs in the living room so they can fold the wheelchair and set it aside. Zeke, ever the kidder, gives me a long wolf whistle and teases me about looking less like a walking corpse than I did a month ago.

"All Christina's doing," I say with a laugh. "It's a good thing she gets an employee discount at that shop, but I think she still spent her entire paycheck on clothes for me last week."

It's the truth. She picked my outfit and helped me with some light makeup. She's always been better at the "girl stuff," as she calls it, than me. The black sweater she picked for me is a bit baggy, she insists it's oversized by design, and tends to slip off my shoulder a bit to show the ravens on my collarbone. The "skinny" jeans, as she calls them, are blue and plain enough, but she rounded out the outfit with silver jewelry, a thick cuff bracelet around one wrist and a simple chain necklace that hangs almost to my navel, and a pair of black flat shoes with silver buckles. The makeup is natural around my eyes, but still looks and feels foreign to me. It makes my eyes look even bigger than they are. She left my hair down straight to lay against my shoulders after brushing it out enough to make it shine. I have to admit that I felt better about myself after looking in the mirror when she was done. The look is casual but put together and sophisticated, as she put it. I've gained enough weight that, though I'm still thin, I don't look emaciated and my skin is a much healthier shade of pale than it was just a month ago. I almost look normal.

Matthew, Cara, and Caleb all arrive together, and I'm surprised to see that Caleb brought Susan Black with him. I didn't know she was still in Chicago, but I am genuinely happy to see her. She's broken out of her Abnegation shell some, but she's still introverted and polite. I guess some things never change. Everyone makes some sort of comment about how well I look, particularly the women, who are more than willing to gush about the progress I'm making. All of it makes me want to storm out of the room. But I smile and nod, ever the polite little guest of honor.

I'm sure the meal tastes wonderful, but I don't really notice it. I only barely manage to push most of the food around on my plate. Tobias is watching me carefully, as he's done for the last month, frowning at me when he notices that I'm not really eating.

After dinner, we all sit in the living room for drinks and conversation. Shauna and Zeke surprise us all with the news that they've finally made it through the approval process for adopting a child. Because of her paralysis, something I know is my fault even if I can't remember the specifics, Shauna can't have a child. As she puts it, the pipes are there but the plumbing doesn't work. They've been trying to adopt for years, but the process of becoming a potential adoptive home is apparently a long one. I smile at Shauna tentatively as I congratulate her, but I don't see any bitterness in her smile.

Before any of us realize it, the hour grows late. I stifle a yawn as everyone starts to filter out of the apartment. Christina and Tobias put away the leftovers and pile the dirty dishes in the sink. It looks like Tobias will be doing dishes for a week, but he never once complains about it. The three of us sit in awkward silence for a little longer. Not for the first time since I've been back, I don't want to go home with Christina. While Tobias steps outside to take out the garbage, Christina gives me a knowing look.

"You staying here tonight?"

I squirm on my seat. How do I explain to her that I want to stay because I need to pick a fight? There isn't an easy way to say it, so I settle for as much truth as I can without getting into too many details.

"I really need to talk to him about some things, and this is the best opportunity I've had in weeks."

"I could bring you back tomorrow night," she says, raising an eyebrow. "Or he could come over during the day when I'm at work. You don't have to stay tonight if you don't really want to."

"I think it needs to be tonight, Christina," I say, keeping my voice as steady and firm as possible. "I'll be ok." I make sure to smile when I say it.

Tobias opens the door just as Christina says, "Alright, if you insist."

"And what would you be insisting?" he asks, giving me a level look.

"If it's alright with you," I say, "I'm staying here tonight."

I watch his face carefully for any sign of what he might be thinking, but he's regained his remarkable self-possession since my return and his expression is closed. I dare to hope that maybe, just maybe, tonight he will be hard, that he will push, that he will stop looking at me in a way that makes me feel fragile. He doesn't say anything, but he inclines his head in a short nod and I let out a breath I didn't know I was holding.

Christina collects her things and gives me a short hug, reminding me that I have my phone if I need her. Phones are relatively new to me. When Chicago was an active experiment city for the Bureau, they didn't allow telephones of any kind to be introduced to the city because they wanted it to be completely closed off to the outside world. Now that the experiment is done, just about everyone in the city has one. I still haven't mastered texting, but I can at least make a phone call if I need to.

When she leaves, Tobias settles himself in the chair closest to me but doesn't look at me right away. There is an awkward tension between us, hanging in the room and thickening the air. It's the first time I've been alone with him in almost a month, and my resolve falters. When he does finally look at me, my frustrations evaporate and all I know is that I just want to lose myself in his dark blue eyes. Longing and need stir in every part of me, squeezing the breath from my chest. I didn't know it was possible to miss someone this much when you still see him almost every day.

"Was there something on your mind, Tris," he asks quietly, his voice soothing and intimidating at the same time, "or did you decide to stay for other reasons?" He raises an eyebrow at me and glances down. I can almost feel the heat from his gaze as his eyes fix on the ravens on my collarbone.

All of the things I've wanted to say have completely left my mind. I can't remember a single, solitary point of the argument that I've been rehearsing all evening, hell, for the last month. My throat is tight and my tongue is thick, making the simple task of clearing my throat seem harder than I know it is. But I manage it. I close my eyes and force my racing pulse to slow with deep calming breaths.

This isn't panic. It's an overwhelming desire that I want desperately to sweep me away and carry him with me. But I have to think. I have to remember that I need him to stop treating me like I'm made of glass, afraid that I'll break at any moment. Yes, that's it. Anger surges through me to replace the frustration and need.

"If I'd known that showing a little skin would be enough for you to stop treating me like I'm fragile, I'd have done it weeks ago." The words carry a sharp edge that I'm surprised I was able to pull off. His eyes fly back to mine, slightly widened in shock.

"I don't think you're fragile," he begins. But I interrupt him with a scoff.

"Could've fooled me, and just about every single person we know. You tend to leave the room when anyone else asks about how therapy is going. You never ask me how I'm doing. You barely touch me at all, and when you do, it's only for a moment to help me do something that you apparently don't think I have the strength to do on my own. Most of the time, I don't think you can stand to look me in the eye. And when you do, the pity and sympathy you give me is infuriating."

He doesn't answer me, but I can see his jaw clench. His eyes still hold heat, but I think this heat is from anger rather than lust. Good.

"And just what do you want from me, Tris? An open confession of how frustrating it is that I can't do anything for you? An admission that I have no idea what to do about you, about anything I want from you? Because, please, tell me what things I'm supposed to do for you that won't make the panic attacks and nightmares worse, since I don't seem to have a fucking clue."

I take a sharp breath. Christina wasn't supposed to tell him about the nightmares. I shared some of the details of them, hoping that giving an outlet to the terror would help take away some of their intensity. I should have kept them for the journals and my shrink. I look away and pull my fingers through my hair in frustration.

"She wasn't supposed to tell you that I keep having the nightmares."

"She wasn't supposed to tell me a lot of things, I'm sure. I keep hoping that you'll tell me about it, yourself, but it seems that you don't trust me enough for that."

I look back at him and narrow my eyes. "And what, exactly, has she been telling you, Tobias?"

"Not just her, but Caleb, too. He dug a little deeper into the files of the experiments that were run on you." His voice is quiet, the thread of volatility unmistakable, just like it was so long ago during initiation all the times that I wished he would just yell at me. "Were you ever going to tell me specifically what they did to you using my face, or were you just hoping to get over it?"

My stomach drops like lead. I lower my eyes from his and pick at a loose thread on my sleeve. He knows what they did. I try to swallow, but my throat feels like sandpaper.

"Are you really surprised that I haven't told you?" I ask, keeping my own voice small and quiet. I hate the vulnerability in it. "What purpose could it possibly serve? And tell me how, exactly, I was supposed to tell you about any of it, not just the rape and torture, without completely destroying you?" I choke on the words. "You were devastated simply by data stream from the very last simulation, and that was the tamest one. You weren't responsible for anything they did, and you can't change the fact that it happened. What difference would it have made if I'd told you?"

I drag the edges of my sleeves over my cheeks, drying the tears that I haven't been able to keep from flowing. I hate crying in front of him. I always have. He even admitted to me once that he knows nothing of tears. He sits in his chair for a moment and doesn't come near me, and I think with a wry grimace that this is what I wanted. I wanted Four, the hard-ass Dauntless instructor and leader who doesn't comfort me, doesn't coddle me.

He gets out of the chair, and I think he's just getting up to pace while I cry, but I'm surprised when he puts a glass of water and a box of tissues on the coffee table and sits next to me. He pulls me to him and threads his fingers through my hair, pressing a kiss to the top of my head. Before I know it, I'm sitting across his lap with my face on his shoulder while sobs wrack my body, years of pain and turmoil pouring out of me. His arms are strong around my body and his cheek rests softly against my head. He says nothing, makes no reassuring sounds like Cara did the first night after I was rescued. He just lets me cry while he rubs one hand up and down my side slowly.

When the tears have slowed, he raises the hand he's been using to soothe me and tilts my head up so I can see his eyes. I'm surprised to see that he's been crying with me. He presses a kiss to my forehead. I close my eyes and relax into his arms.

"I'm sorry," I say, my voice thick from crying. "I should have told you. I just didn't know how and I didn't think it would help."

"It's alright," he says as he buries his fingers in my hair again. His voice is low and soothing again, the deep timbre rumbling around me, with no traces of the anger that were there just a few moments ago.

He shifts forward and picks up the box of tissues, offering it to me. I pluck several of them out of the box and he sets it aside. I wipe my face carefully, thankful that I managed to convince Christina to go easy on the eyeliner and mascara.

I pull a few more pieces of tissue out of the box and dab at the tears still on his cheeks, then I kiss where they ran, tasting the saltiness left behind on his skin. Tobias is very still beneath me, but I can't miss the hardening against my hip. I take my time kissing away his tears before I move to his mouth. I kiss him, pressing my lips to his with feather-light touches, there and gone again almost before I can feel my skin brush his. After a few moments, he groans deep in his throat and tightens his grip on my hair, bringing me down more firmly to him. I fit my mouth to his as he pushes my lips open with his tongue, slipping between my teeth and tickling the roof of my mouth. I shudder and lean even closer against him, pushing into his mouth as he did mine. I nibble on his lower lip as I withdraw from him.

By the time we both come up for air, his eyes are dilated and his cheeks are flushed with need. My heart beats in my chest so hard I'm certain he can hear it. He leans his forehead down onto mine and we simply sit for a moment, catching our breaths by breathing each other's air.

"We both need to get some sleep," he says softly. Sleep is the farthest thing from my mind right now, but I nod my head and scoot away from him. He stands and offers me his hand, slipping his long fingers between mine and leads me to the bedroom.

I didn't bring anything with me to sleep in, so he hands me a t-shirt and a pair of shorts from one of the drawers in his dresser. He presses another kiss to my forehead before he steps into the bathroom to change, a second t-shirt and pair of shorts in his hand. I know nothing is going to happen between us tonight, and there is some disappointment over it, but I'm too exhausted and we will have time. I fold my clothes neatly after I've changed, just in time for him to come back out of the bathroom and join me. We climb into his bed and he wraps himself around me protectively. I press my face into his pillow, breathing in the scent of him, and fall asleep.

And for the first time in a month, I don't have any nightmares.


	12. Chapter 12

_**Tobias**_

When I wake the next morning, Tris hasn't moved. My right arm is completely numb from being wedged under her all night long, but there is no way that I'm going to disturb her by trying to move it. Christina made it sound as if Tris hasn't slept well in the last month and I am content to just lay here and watch her sleep. I know the pain will be excruciating when I move my arm again, but I'd endure it every morning if it meant spending every night with her in my bed.

There are days when it still feels like this is all an impossible dream, that I will wake up and Tris will be gone again. Even now, with the warmth of her body next to mine, I can hardly believe it's real. She was gone, dead for so long. After the rawest parts of the grief faded, I had to learn how to function in a hell not of my choosing. I lived in that hell long enough that it feels like I should still be there.

Even since I've had her back, I haven't really had her with me. The emotional distance she put between us over the past few weeks nearly made me lose my mind. I've come to understand that the nightmare I've lived for the past twelve years would be nothing to the utter hell of not being with her now that I know she's alive.

I know that my expectations might be unrealistic. Cara and I have had this discussion more than once, and she keeps trying to convince me that what I feel now is nothing more than a desire for the emotional closure I never got twelve years ago. She says that, even if Tris hadn't gone missing, the likelihood that our relationship would have lasted this long is low considering how young we were when we met. We're different people now. Even if things had been different and we'd spent that time together, we might still have grown apart enough that our relationship might not have been permanent.

A small part of me knows that Cara's probably right. But the rest of me refuses to accept that. She is my Tris, always has been and always will be, and I will accept nothing else. Each day that passes makes it harder for me to keep myself from making long-term plans for a life with her, despite the fact that I lost her right after the last time I started thinking that way.

I must make some small movement, because Tris rolls away from me onto her stomach. She's only laying on the lower part of my forearm and my hand now, so I carefully slide away, pulling my hand with me. I swear under my breath as the blood flow starts to kick in, waking up the nerve endings. It hurts like hell, but I take pleasure in the pain. When my arm finally stops throbbing, I lean closer to Tris and kiss her shoulder. I get out of the bed as quietly as I can, because I really don't want to wake her. I'm careful not to make any extra noise as I close the bedroom door and move through my apartment to bar where my phone rests on its charging cradle, frowning at the pile of dishes in the sink.

I'm never letting Christina borrow my apartment for a dinner party again. We can all go out together and let someone else do the cooking and cleaning. I sigh deeply, and then pick up the phone. She inconvenienced me yesterday. The least she can do is get up early for me this morning.

Her phone rings about six times before rolling over to voicemail, so I dial it again. It takes three attempts before she answers, and I'm pleased by her groggy mumbled greeting.

"Good morning, Sunshine!" I say quietly but with a cheerfulness that I know will drive her crazy.

"Four, do you remember what I did to you the last time you woke me up before ten a.m. on a day off, especially my one weekend off each month?"

I grimace. "Only like it was yesterday." She put snap-its, little bits of gravel mixed with an explosive compound and wrapped in tissue paper, inside all of the cabinets and drawers in my apartment. "I found a couple of those damned things in one of my kitchen cabinets the other day. Scared the shit out of me when one of them went off."

"I still have a key to your place. And all kinds of dirty tricks up my sleeves."

"Oh, no, this time I'm calling early because you trashed my kitchen last night. That and I need you to bring over some things for Tris."

I can hear her scrambling to get untangled from her sheets and blankets. When she speaks again, her voice has lost all its grogginess.

"Is she ok? How did everything go? Did she have a nightmare?"

"Christina, I think you forgot which of us you're talking to," I say with a sigh. "I don't do the girl talk thing."

"You know she's going to tell me later, and I'm going to insist on all the juicy details."

"Then she can decide what to tell you. Just bring her some clothes. I'm hoping to take her with me to brunch with Evelyn, so I'm pretty sure you're going to have to hurry if you're going to get here and have her ready by eleven. And be prepared to wash dishes." I glance at the kitchen sink and counters again. "A lot of dishes." I hang up before she can get a chance to pout.

I know Christina should be here well before I have to leave for my regular brunch with Evelyn, but I figure giving her a mission might get her here earlier. I also know that there's no way she's going to be able to resist a chance to dress Tris up for the occasion. Considering her success last night, I'm more than happy to give her that opportunity. Besides, I want my kitchen clean again before I get home from brunch.

As I'm putting the coffee pot together, my phone rings. I pick it up, expecting it to be Christina calling back to grouse, but I'm surprised when Evelyn's voice comes over the line. She only ever calls on Sundays if she's canceling for some reason.

"Hi, Mom. Everything okay?"

"I'm fine," she says, her voice pleasant over the line. "Listen, I was wondering if it would be okay for me to bring a friend with me to brunch this morning. There's someone I want you to meet."

I raise an eyebrow at the word "friend."

"Only if I can bring one of my own," I answer.

"If it's Tris, then there's no need to even ask, Tobias," she says. I can hear her smile over the phone.

"Sounds like you're in an exceptionally good mood this morning," I say, digging for more information while I fill the coffee pot with water. "Should I be concerned?"

She actually laughs at me, then says, "I'll let you see for yourself at brunch."

"Then it's settled. We'll see you at the restaurant," I say. She agrees and says goodbye. I hang up the phone and stare at it for a moment. I'm curious about her "friend." She's never brought anyone to meet me in all the years since she moved back to the city. Before I'm able to think about it too hard, I look up and see Tris leaning against the doorframe in the doorway to the bedroom.

In all my wildest dreams, I never once imagined what it would be like, how it would feel, to see her standing in my apartment, wearing my clothes, hair tousled from sleep. I'm utterly unprepared for the streak of possessiveness that rips through me. She is mine, and nothing can take her away from me this time. I am more certain of this than I have ever been of anything else in my life. And now I completely understand what Zeke means by the phrase _raging blue balls_.

"Good morning," she says shyly, a small smile tugging at the corners of her mouth.

I smile at her as I slide the carafe back into the coffee pot and turn it on.

"Good morning. Coffee will be done in a bit if you want some."

She holds up a hand as she comes across the room and says, "No thanks. Not a big fan of coffee."

"Oh, that just means you've never had the perfect cup yet," I say. "I may have to see what I can do to fix that."

"Thanks, but I think I'll take your word for it."

I shrug. "More for me and Christina, when she gets here. She should be bringing you something to change into. I was kind of hoping you'd come with me to brunch with Evelyn this morning."

She settles herself on the barstool and I catch her glance at the mess behind me.

"I'd love to go. You going to make Christina clean up?" she asks, nodding in the direction of the massive pile of dishes.

"Absolutely," I say with a grin.

"You're in a good mood this morning," she says. Her tone is dry, but she's smirking at me.

"You could say that," I say. I look at her and carefully examine her expression. "It was good to have you here, with me." I clear my throat to try to get rid of the lump that just formed. "I don't think I've slept that well in years."

"Well, I know I haven't," she says. Her voice is an odd mixture of light teasing and hard declaration. "Even now, after everything, my subconscious must associate your scent with safety. I should have thought about that weeks ago."

She must see the question on my face when I frown because she clears her throat and looks down at her hands on the bar, picking at her cuticles.

"The night in your apartment after Peter nearly threw me into the chasm in the Dauntless compound, I fell asleep breathing the scent on your pillow," she says, looking up at me again and shrugging a shoulder. "After that, the way you smell has meant safety to me. I was talking to Caleb a couple of weeks ago about something else that I smelled that triggered a real memory. His theory is that smell is much more subjective than sight or sound, a lot harder to quantify and define, so there wasn't a good way to trick my nose like they did my eyes and ears. Memory and the sense of smell are also pretty closely linked, so that's probably why the nightmares didn't come last night. I fell asleep feeling safe, and my subconscious had a constant reminder of that safety."

"Sounds reasonable enough," I say, trying to keep a handle on my ego. I can't deny the satisfaction that I feel knowing that she still feels that way even if I don't completely understand the technical explanation. I reach across the bar and tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. "How are you this morning?"

She takes a deep breath and says, "Better than I have been in a while, honestly. I'm sorry I kind of dissolved into a quivering puddle last night. I'm sure you had other expectations."

"I had no expectations, Tris," I say with a frown. "At least none that you're thinking."

"Oh," she says, her disappointment evident as she looks away from me.

"Hey," I say, nudging her chin to make her look at my eyes again. "Are we seriously going to have to repeat a conversation that happened almost 13 years ago? Because I think the first one was awkward enough." I smile at her. "I'm definitely interested, but I'm not going to push, all things considered. I'm not in any more of a rush for anything to happen now than I was then."

"What if I am?"

If there was one thing I never expected her to say at this particular moment in time, it would be that. I stare at her, caught between the shock that she asked and the intense hunger sweeping through my veins like a flood. She must see it on my face.

"How long do you think it will take for Christina to get here?" she asks, her voice low.

"About an hour."

Tris doesn't say anything else. She slides off the barstool and walks back to the bedroom door, then turns to look at me and raises an eyebrow. While I watch, she slowly peels off the t-shirt I gave her last night. After it's off her head, she turns back around without bothering to make sure that I'm following her.

* * *

About an hour later, we lie in the bed together, skin on skin. I'm propped up on an elbow, bending my neck down every once in a while to kiss lightly along her shoulder, neck, cheek, and anywhere else that I can reach. She rests on her back, her eyes only half open. The corners of her mouth are slanted up in a small, satisfied smile. That satisfaction is mirrored in my own smile, I'm sure.

I wince when I look at the clock, then point at it and say, "I know you probably would like to stay here all day long, but Christina will be here soon." Tris groans and I smile at her again. "I'll let you lie here and recover a little longer. I think she'll be too scandalized if she gets here and we're in the shower together."

"No she won't," Tris says. "She'll just be curious, and that's worse for a Candor. I'll shower first. That way, she can get started on my hair when she gets here and that might keep her distracted." She climbs out of the bed, not seeming the least bit shy as she walks to the bathroom, and I can't tear my eyes away from her. This boldness is new, and I will not deny that I like it.

Tris is still showering, but I manage to get my shorts back on and the bed made with fresh sheets before Christina gets there. I'm sure that she can tell what happened, even if there aren't any physical signs. Not that I really care that much.

"You do know that you're about to be kicked out of your own bedroom for primping, which means I am going to get all of the details, right?"

"So, I take it I should get the clothes I'm planning to wear and put them in the living room." I laugh at her as she glares at me, then grab a clean shirt and pair of jeans out of the closet.

"Oh, my god, Four," she says with an exasperated sigh. "Do I have to dress you both?"

"What?" I ask. She raises an eyebrow. "What's wrong with this?"

She mutters under her breath and stomps over to the closet, practically pushing me out of the way. After a couple of minutes of rummaging, she hands me a different shirt and a pair of slacks that I normally only ever wear to work. I try to protest, but she shoves them into my hands and then pushes me out of the bedroom.

Tris sticks her head out of the bedroom door about fifteen minutes later to let me know that I can have the bathroom. While I'm showering and shaving, my ears burn with curiosity, but I don't hear much from the bedroom. Between the running water, my razor, and the hair dryer in the other room, I wouldn't have heard anything less than screaming, anyway.

I'm about to pour my third cup of coffee, just out of sheer boredom, when the bedroom door opens. Tris walks out and I forget about the coffee. Having been raised in Abnegation, I never thought that grey could ever be beautiful, but the light sweater that she's wearing proves me wrong. Maybe it's only beautiful because she's wearing it. Christina paired it with black slacks and a necklace made of small pink pearls. The pearls look like they're floating against Tris's skin. I have to clench my fists to keep myself from burying my hands in her hair, which is hanging soft and long around her shoulders, slightly curled at the ends.

"You can breathe now, Four," says Christina with a grin.

I didn't realize I was holding my breath, but I let it out as I put down the coffee pot.

"See, I told you he'd like it," she says to Tris.

"I never doubted you," says Tris. "I only said that the clothes didn't look like something you'd pick."

"Oh, I'd never wear that myself. Not my style. But I know your boyfriend and I know you. You're both a lot more into timeless classic chic than my normal edgy flair."

"I will never doubt you again," says Tris again as she walks over to me.

"Now might be the time to say something, Four," Christina says to me. "Because I did not get out of bed hours early and go to all that effort to get everything perfect for you to just stand there looking like you swallowed a frog."

I have to clear my throat twice before I can answer. "I don't think words can quite do it justice," I finally manage to say. Tris's smile lights up the room.

"I'm glad the two of you are getting the opportunity to do the cute, love-struck, blind-to-the-rest-of-the-world phase this time," says Christina with a smile. Then she frowns. "Just don't start turning into gushing, babbling idiots. Because I'll disown you both."

I laugh.

* * *

Tris and I make it to the restaurant before Evelyn and her "friend." We don't have to wait too long before they arrive. Nathaniel Smith is a criminal attorney from Baltimore who moved to Chicago about a year ago to take a position with the district attorney's office. He looks respectable enough, but so did Marcus to everyone outside my family. He's slightly younger than Evelyn, but not by much.

Brunch is only slightly awkward, all things considered. I learn enough about Nathaniel that I think he might be a decent person, but it's going to take more than one conversation to satisfy my natural cynicism. Evelyn seems to be happy with him, and she deserves some happiness after all that she's been through, so I'm going to try to give him the benefit of the doubt. Evelyn and Tris seem to genuinely enjoy each other's company, though.

Evelyn invites us to her apartment after brunch, and Tris seems interested, so we follow her and Nathaniel back to her townhouse near where the Abnegation sector used to be. Tris makes a few speculations on the ride there, but I'm too distracted by trying to figure out exactly what I think of the fact that my mother is dating to really make much in the way of conversation. Tris must catch on to what's going through my mind, because she chuckles at me at one point and says we can talk about it after I've figured it out.

When I pull up in the street in front of Evelyn's townhouse, I immediately know something's wrong. Evelyn is standing outside on the lawn with her hand over her mouth. Nathaniel is standing next to her with an arm around her shoulders. I look around to see what's wrong, then notice that the door is hanging off its hinges and someone has painted the word "whore" in red across it. I don't even have to go inside to see that the entire townhouse is trashed.

I know who did this, even before Zeke shows up to start taking statements and collect what evidence can be found. I know it was Marcus. And I'm going to kill him this time.


	13. Chapter 13

_**Tris**_

Tobias rolls down the windows asks me to wait in the truck when we pull up to his mother's townhouse and we see that it's been vandalized. I almost get out of the truck just to defy him, but I can tell by the set of his mouth that now is not the time to assert any independence. It's not as if I could actually do anything other than stand and gawk, anyway.

I can tell by Evelyn's body language that she's in shock. Nathaniel tries to comfort her, rather unsuccessfully. I almost feel bad for Nathaniel when Tobias pulls Evelyn into a hug and she crumples against him, taking comfort from her son that she wouldn't accept from her lover. It's clear that they've come to the same conclusion, the one I share; this was Marcus's doing. From the look on Nathaniel's face, he clearly has no idea how bad things ever got with Marcus, and Evelyn clearly had no intention of ever telling him.

Tobias pulls out his mobile phone, a new purchase since we surprised Evelyn last month, fiddles with the buttons and puts the phone to his ear. Since I'm still inside the truck, I can't hear anything that's being said, but I do notice that Tobias is looking around the neighborhood. Surely he doesn't expect that Marcus would be stupid enough to stick around to gloat. Then again, it is Marcus.

I close my eyes and lean my head back against the seat. This doesn't make any sense. Marcus was a lying, abusive bastard, but he was always in control of himself in public, careful to maintain the appearance of calm Abnegation selflessness. He never did anything that would call his perfect reputation into question. The real question here is what changed? He's been gone for almost as long as I have. What would have brought him back to Chicago now and why is Evelyn suddenly back in the cross-hairs?

A little while later, car door slams shut behind me and I open my eyes to catch a glimpse of Zeke in the rear view mirror. He winks at me as he walks past the truck, pulling out a pad to take statements and notes. I already knew he was a detective with the city's police force, but it's still strange to see him at work. Always the kidder, Zeke is surprisingly good at his job.

The inside of the truck is heating up to the point that it's just a bit too warm, even with the windows half down. I decide I'm going to have to risk Tobias's ire and open the door. Tobias sees the door swing open and jogs over, just getting to me before I try to climb out. His mouth is set in a firm line, a frown tugging at the corners of his lips, but he doesn't say anything as he helps me down to the ground. I'm not sure I would have been able to make it on my own without breaking an ankle. That damn truck is just too high off the ground to not have running boards.

"It's too hot in there," I say, offering the truth as a simple explanation. He nods, but still keeps quiet.

Tobias is calm and collected. I suddenly recognize the stillness, a memory playing out in my mind. This is the way he acts when he's contemplating revenge. I look up at him as he guides me across the lawn with a hand under my elbow.

"Please tell me you're not planning something stupid, Tobias," I ask. My voice is firmer than I intended it to be.

"I don't know what you're talking about, Tris," he says without looking at me.

"You have the same look on your face right now that you did all those years ago in Candor when you beat the man with your belt."

He looks down at me and the coldness in his eyes chills the blood in my veins. I'm caught in his gaze and it's like staring down a snake. How could I have forgotten this side of him? The hardness and calculated violence of war is still part of him. He buries it under layers and layers of carefully constructed control, but it is always there. It is something that he inherited from his father, it was refined in the fires of revolution when he was a teenager, and it will never go away, not truly.

I realize just a fraction of a second too late that this part of him, this thing that hints at danger, is how he was so successfully turned into a demon by men who had never met him. The fear of him isn't something they constructed; it's something that I already knew in some part of me and all they had to do is build on it. As the pieces of the puzzle fall into place, my breath catches in my throat.

And I panic.

* * *

Zeke hands me a bottle of water. I sit in the passenger seat of his cruiser nursing my wounded pride. The door is open and Zeke is leaning over me with his elbows resting on the roof of the car, shielding me from the prying eyes of anyone and everyone who just saw my little melt down, including Tobias. The usual humor in Zeke's eyes has been replaced with concern.

At least it wasn't a screaming panic attack. I just hyperventilated and passed out due to losing the ability to breathe. I can handle fainting spells a lot better than the screaming.

"Care to tell me what, exactly, that was about?" asks Zeke.

"You tell me," I say before I take a drink of the water. "I think you can pretty much figure it out. You are the one who's supposedly more perceptive than you let on."

Zeke swears under his breath. "What did he do?"

"Nothing," I say as I shake my head firmly. "He didn't do anything. He wouldn't do anything. You know that probably better than I do, Zeke."

He lets out a sharp breath and squats down in front of me to look me in the eyes. I try to keep my expression very carefully blank, which is hard to do when I can see Tobias pacing next to his mother out of the corner of my eye.

"Promise me one thing," he says, his eyes carefully blank. "I can understand it if you're not going to be able to handle being with him. I get it, because I saw the recording and I know about the nightmares. No one would blame you, not even Four. But if you're looking to get out, please do it quickly. You might not remember everything that happened between the two of you before you left the city, but you both had a bad habit of tearing each other apart. And then you up and died on him and it took him a long damn time to be able to function again."

I wipe away the tears that fell from my eyes as he spoke, choking back more of them. After a steadying breath, I try to give Zeke a genuine smile, but I know that it isn't convincing.

"I have no intention of going anywhere, Zeke. Not this time. But thanks for your concern."

Zeke gives me one last look before he turns away and nods at Tobias, who practically runs over and kneels down in front of me. Tobias's eyes are warm again. He reaches up and brushes my hair out of my face, cupping my jaw with his palm. I close my eyes and lean into that contact, taking a deep breath.

"Please, Tobias," I say quietly, "promise me that you're not going to go after Marcus. Let Zeke take care of it." I open my eyes and look at him again. "It isn't worth losing everything."

"He has to pay this time," he says softly. "After everything that happened to me, to my mother, apparently being banished wasn't enough for him. I should have killed him a long time ago."

"No," I say, forcing heat into my words. "If there is one thing that I know about you beyond a shadow of a doubt it's that you're not a cold-blooded murderer."

His eyes soften even more as he whispers the next word almost so quietly that I can't hear it: "Eric."

I shake my head.

"That's not the same," I say. "He was a convicted criminal sentenced to death according to Dauntless law. He asked you for the bullet and he wanted you to be the one to put it between his eyes."

"It is the same," he says, his eyes searching my face for something he apparently can't find. He sighs, blowing out a hard breath. "It may have been sanctioned by everyone else in the room, but it was still murder and I never felt any remorse. I am capable of it. And it's no better than Marcus deserves."

"That is _not_ your decision to make, Tobias!" I jerk away from his hand. "If you do this, you'll never, ever come back from it. _We_ will never come back from it. You'll just be confirming every subconscious fear that I have. You will become the monster that you keep trying to convince me you're not, that I believe you are not."

Tobias looks down at the ground. I can tell that he hasn't heard a word I've said. He's made up his mind, and I won't be able to stop him. It feels like we're arguing over Nita's plan all over again, except this time it's much, much worse.

"Fine," I say as I stand up. He falls back away from me. "If you change your mind, I'll be a Christina's. If you don't, leave me there."

I walk away from him and pull my phone out of my pocket.

"So, that's your solution?" he says as I walk away. "You're giving me an ultimatum. Choose to walk away from this with you and let him continue to terrorize my family or end this once and for all."

"Why the hell not?" I say as I whirl back around. My voice is shaking with anger. "You've employed that tactic more than once, _Four_, and it even works for you sometimes. Sucks to be on the receiving end of one, doesn't it."

"I thought I told you a long time ago not to use that name as a weapon against me," he says, his eyes hardening. I remember it as he says it. He doesn't say anything else. After a few minutes of just standing there grinding his jaw, he swears under his breath, then stalks to his truck and opens the passenger door, looking back at me as if he expects me to get in. I shake my head at him.

"You're crazy if you think I'm getting back in that thing with you."

"Do you want a ride to Christina's or not?" he asks me. His face is very carefully composed, the very image of self-possession and control. "You're going to have to stay there tonight, at the very least, since Evelyn will most likely be crashing at my place until Zeke's finished with her place and it's been cleaned."

I want to argue with him. I want to scream at him until I'm blue in the face. But there is no reasoning with Tobias when he's made up his mind, as he so clearly has done. It wouldn't be worth wasting my breath anymore, so I say nothing as I march across the yard and he helps me step back up in his truck. He closes me in, exchanges a few words with Evelyn and Zeke, then gets behind the wheel and takes off.

* * *

I call Christina on the way to her apartment. She's still washing dishes for Tobias. She drops what she's doing, literally, and says she'll meet me at her apartment. She barely beats us there, but I'm not relieved enough to see her to overcome the anger that permeated the air in the truck. Christina takes one look at me, then glares at Tobias, knowing instinctively that he's the only reason I would be so upset about something that I would be shaking.

Before I go into Christina's apartment, Tobias assures me that he'll call me in a softer voice than he used at his mother's townhouse. I don't say anything to him. I can't speak past the anger that's choking me as if it were a living thing. At least I'm not terrified of him at the moment. I can't be scared and livid at the same time, apparently.

It doesn't take long to relay the story to Christina. By the end of it, she's as angry as I am.

"What the hell is he thinking?" she exclaims.

"I don't think he is thinking," I reply. "This is the side of him that I have never been able to understand or predict. It's the side of him that chose to help Nita blow out a wall at the Bureau compound. The worst part about all of this is that he could do it. He's perfectly capable of killing Marcus, and he won't feel any remorse."

Christina shakes her head.

"You ok with me crashing on your couch again for a while?" I ask her.

"Sure," she says. "You know he'll come to his senses, eventually, right?"

"I'm more worried about what he'll do in the meantime, honestly. Let's hope that Marcus doesn't do anything else before Tobias has calmed down."

Christina's couch is not the most comfortable piece of furniture to sleep on. Comfort aside, I'm also too wound up to sleep. I should be exhausted, all things considered, but I just lie on the couch and stare at the ceiling for hours before finally falling into a fitful and shallow sleep.

The nightmare begins as they all do. I stand in a circle of light cast from above me. The rest of the room is dark. I hear voices, shouts, screams all around me. Just to keep myself from going mad, I cover my ears with my hands and sink to my knees, but I can't muffle the sounds that are so loud now that I can't hear my own screams. I open my eyes and see bare feet in front of me. I stop screaming long enough to look up, following the legs and body of the person in front of me, barely noticing the patch of dauntless flames tattooed over his ribs. Tobias stands before me, and for a moment his eyes remain dark blue. I think that maybe, this time, he is here to rescue me, because he offers me his hand and pulls me to my feet. Then his eyes change, glowing red with rage and hate. He sweeps my legs out from beneath me, pushing me to my back and ripping at the clothes I wear with his claw-like fingers.

I wake with a scream and sit up. Christina is standing over me, and it's obvious she's been trying to wake me for some time. She sits next to me on the couch and pulls me to her, wrapping her arms around me. I let her hold me as I cry and calm down, wishing that she was Tobias.


	14. Chapter 14

_**Tris**_

The next week drags by slowly. During the day, Christina provides me with constant distractions when I'm not in physical therapy. We go shopping, watch "girl" movies as she calls them, eat ice cream, and gossip to her heart's content. I'm fairly certain that her goal is to exhaust me as much as possible before she goes to work in the afternoons in the hope that I might be too tired to think when she's not there. I appreciate the diversions because when I am left alone it feels like I'm slowly going insane.

It's hard to believe how quickly things changed last weekend. I went through the whole gamut of human emotion in the space of about sixteen hours: anger, despair, hope, satisfaction, lust, nervousness, and then back to anger with the fight. Zeke was right about one thing. Tobias and I seem to have a pattern of mutual destruction. I've realized since then that I got exactly what I wished for when I wanted Four, Dauntless extraordinaire. I forgot exactly how much the sharpening pressure he brings can hurt me.

Tobias hasn't made any attempt to contact me. I call him in the evenings, once on each of his lines, but he never answers. I stop leaving messages after the first couple of days. Eventually, I'll stop calling. For now, it hurts less to be ignored than I imagine it would to give up altogether. He avoids Christina's calls, too. By Saturday afternoon, I'm desperate enough for any news of him that I call Zeke.

"Detective Pedrad," he says, very professionally. He almost sounds like a grown up.

"Shit, Zeke," I say. "I'm sorry; I didn't mean to call your office line. It's Tris."

"Hi, Tris," he says, his voice more cheerful and friendly than when he answered. "You're lucky you caught me here. I don't normally come to the station on Saturdays. What's up?"

I blow out a breath before I continue.

"I was wondering if you've heard anything from Tobias lately. He hasn't answered or returned any of my calls this week and he hasn't been by. I'm starting to get more than a little worried."

Zeke doesn't say anything for a minute. I begin to think he won't tell me anything, and then I hear him sigh over the line.

"Are you that surprised, Tris? You kind of put him between a rock and a hard place. Not that I think you were wrong to do it, but honestly, how else did you expect him to react?"

"No, I'm not surprised," I say with a wince. "I'm more disappointed than anything. How badly did I screw this up, Zeke?"

"You didn't," he says with a certainty that I wish I could feel myself. "He needed to be reminded to let me do my job, even if he's determined to not listen. It's not your fault that he can be an asshole most of the time."

"Has he—" I have to stop to clear my throat. "Has he done it?"

"No, not that I'm aware of. He has to beat me to the bastard, and I have the benefit of an APB and the eyes of every beat cop and detective in the city. I'll find Marcus before Tobias does."

"And what then, Zeke?" I ask. I close my eyes and rub my temple to try and ward of the headache I can feel building. "I've done a little research this week while Christina's been at work. The most that will happen to Marcus is he'll go to jail for a few months and only if he left any evidence behind that proves he was in the townhouse. Tobias won't let it go at that, because Marcus will eventually get out and come back and do it all again."

"I know," he says, sighing. I can hear him tapping his pen against his desk. "But it's the best I can do. We live in a different city, a different world, than we grew up in. We can't do things the way we did them under the faction system any more. And, if you remember, there wasn't anything we could do about Marcus back then, either, since he wasn't Dauntless. Unless Marcus does something more serious, my hands are tied."

"Do you know what led to this? Is there anything that you've found that might explain why Marcus is acting out? He normally has more control than this. It's out of character for him."

Zeke chuckles over the line. "I think I might have to convince the chief to offer you a job when you've been discharged. We could use another detective around here, and I think you'd be a natural."

"Just answer the question, Zeke."

He sighs again and I hear the pen clatter to the desk as if he dropped it. His chair creaks as if he's leaning back in it. When he speaks again, I can hear his frustration in his voice.

"I'm not supposed to tell you the rest of this, because it's an ongoing investigation and we haven't found anything concrete, but the national databases pinged on a report in Georgia that might have something to do Marcus. Apparently, the bodies of a woman and her son washed up on the banks of the Savannah River about nine weeks ago. Their names were Amanda and Thomas Eaton. The autopsy reports were tough to read because the bodies been in the water long enough to compromise most of the physical evidence. Cause of death for both of them was drowning, and they both had old broken bones that could have been due to domestic abuse. Amanda was married to a man named Marcus, and it's probably the same man, but a positive ID hasn't been made on him yet."

"How can there not be a positive ID?" I ask. "That doesn't make sense. I mean, a person can't really live without leaving traces of his life behind. Surely there were friends, pictures, documents, anything that could lead to a positive identification."

"If it is Marcus," he answers, "then he did an even better job this time isolating his new wife and son from the world. It took a couple of weeks just to identify the victims, and that was done through facial reconstruction models shown to the boy's teachers. Amanda wasn't too much older than Tobias, had no family in the area, and from the Savannah PD report, no friends who had actually ever met her husband. Thomas was only seven years old, a good kid according to his teachers, quiet and kept to himself, and there weren't any visible warning signs. Amanda apparently took care of his school contacts, because no one at the school remembers meeting Marcus. There weren't any photos in the house and there are no records of a Marcus Eaton working anywhere in the vicinity. The only physical records are their marriage license, which was improperly recorded with no photo IDs, and Thomas's birth certificate. They didn't even have a picture of our Marcus Eaton until I sent a copy of an old photo to them earlier this week, because he apparently never applied for a state driver's license."

"In other words, you know it was Marcus, but there's no way to prove it, and he's come back to Chicago to lash out at his former wife and his oldest son after having most likely killed his new wife and youngest son." My voice sounds tired even to my own ears.

"All of the evidence is circumstantial, but that's the most likely conclusion at this point. The Savannah PD doesn't even really know enough about what happened to be able to figure out how Amanda and Thomas ended up in the river. I sent over Marcus's DNA profile to see if it'll be a paternal match to Thomas, but it'll take a while before they can finish the comparative analysis. In the end, they're going to need a confession considering how little evidence they've been able to collect. And I'm pretty sure Marcus isn't the kind of person to confess when he knows he just has to keep his mouth shut in order to get away with it."

"Does Tobias know about any of this?" I ask.

"No, and you can't tell him," says Zeke firmly. "I mean it, Tris. He can't know about this yet. I don't even really know why I told you. This case is frustrating the hell out of me."

"More secrets to keep," I say quietly, rubbing my forehead. "At least we already know that I'm pretty good at keeping secrets from Tobias. I don't want to be the one to tell him that his father killed another sibling he didn't know about."

"Another?" asks Zeke.

"Yeah, Evelyn left Marcus all those years ago because he found out the child she was carrying at the time wasn't his and he beat her hard enough to kill the baby. Tobias already knew about that one, his sister, but there won't be any way to keep him from killing Marcus if he finds out about Amanda and Thomas."

"Shit."

"That sums it up nicely." I sigh, the breath ending in a hard chuckle. "I called you hoping to get some reassurances. You haven't put me at ease, Zeke."

"Sorry," he says, the apology not quite sounding sincere.

"How is he?" I ask, willing my chest to relax enough to breathe.

"He's Four," he says after pausing a moment. "He's keeping his shit together, but I can tell that he's not okay. Amar and George are helping me keep an eye on him. Between the three of us, we'll be able to keep him from doing anything too terribly stupid. I don't know exactly what's going on in his head, but he'll work it out, eventually. Give him time."

"Thanks, Zeke," I say.

"Any time. And I meant what I said earlier. When you've been given a clean bill of health, let me know. The chief owes me a favor or two. You'd be really good at this."

I laugh at him before responding, "I'll think about it, Zeke," then I hang up.

I decide to break my own rule and try calling Tobias again, but there's no answer on either his home or mobile lines. The mobile line goes straight to his voicemail. I drop my phone gently on the couch beside me and press my hand against my forehead.

* * *

A few hours after my conversation with Zeke, I hear a soft knock at the door. My heart flutters in the hope that it might be Tobias. When I open the door to see Caleb holding a box of pizza, a six-pack of beer, and a gift-wrapped package under his arm, I can't help but smile at him. I'm disappointed that he's not Tobias, but I'm grateful for the company right now. Caleb puts the pizza on the table and the beer in the fridge, and then gives me a hug.

It feels good to hug Caleb. I know he still thinks he has something to prove to me, no matter how much I've tried to convince him otherwise. I'm just glad he came.

"How was your trip?" I ask when he pulls away.

"Gratifying," he says with a smile. "Washington DC is an amazing city if you don't have to live there, and the indictment proceedings went exactly as planned. The trial won't begin for another few months, but everything else is coming together quite nicely."

He always gets excited when he gives me updates on the prosecution of the people who kidnapped me. I don't particularly want to care one way or the other how the trial turns out, but his enthusiasm is infectious sometimes. It's hard not to be happy when he's happy. Before he says anything more, Caleb holds out the package to me.

"What's this?" I ask as I take it from him.

"Open it and find out," he says with a smile.

"I didn't forget some special occasion, did I?" I ask with a frown. "I'm pretty sure my birthday isn't for a few more weeks."

"No," he laughs. "This is just a because-I-wanted-to kind of thing."

I tear the wrapping paper off carefully to find that he's brought me a new glass pad computer like the ones that are used at the old Bureau compound. I look at him with a question on my face.

"Before you scold me for spending the money, let me explain. I know you've been going stir-crazy most days. I thought you might want to have something to keep you busy. It's web capable, so if you eventually decide you want to work in a field that requires extra study or training, you'll be able to take classes. Here's the stylus," he says as he pushes a button on the side of the pad. The stylus pops out of a slot where it's normally stored.

I look down at it and smile as I realize what this is. It's a gift of knowledge given by an Erudite. Caleb probably couldn't have given me any more meaningful gift, at least as far as he's concerned.

"You know, Caleb," I say as I look back up at him, "you don't have anything to make up for. I forgave you a long time ago, before I went into the weapons lab."

"I know, Beatrice," he says. He'll never call me Tris, I'm sure, but I don't mind him calling me by my full name. "I've known for a while, but at least let me give this to you. It's my way of saying 'thank you' for giving me an opportunity to be your brother again."

I hug him again, because I don't know what else to do. For the rest of the evening we sit at the table eating the pizza right out of the box while he shows me how to use the pad, which is a bit more complicated than it looks. I'm groaning for the hundredth time about how hard it is to remember the stylus movements that put text into the word processor when Christina comes through the door, dumps her purse on the table next to the door, and collapses on the couch.

"Rough day?" I ask.

"You have no idea. Both of my cashiers called in and we have to reset the ads and displays for next week's big sale before closing tomorrow. Between me and the floor clerk, we only got half the store done today. The rest will have to be done tomorrow. I may end up staying late tomorrow night." She sits back up and just then sees Caleb and the pizza box. "You didn't save me any?" she asks, pouting.

"There are a couple of slices in the fridge," I tell her. "I also saved you a couple of beers."

"You're the best," she says with a grin as she gets back up off the couch. She grabs her food and her beer and sits with us for a while, teasing me when I do something on the pad that frustrates me. "You know, for someone who had aptitude for Erudite, you sure don't get around very well with technology."

"Give me a break," I say as I roll my eyes. "We didn't have much access to this stuff in Dauntless and you two have had about twelve years to catch up with the rest of the world. I'll figure it out. Eventually."

I accidentally close out of the program I was running and frown. Christina and Caleb laugh at me, and it feels good to join them. We chat for a few more minutes, filling Caleb in on what happened last weekend, but I don't tell either of them about the conversation I had with Zeke earlier. Caleb frowns, but doesn't comment on the fight I had with Tobias.

"Well, girls," he says after looking at the clock. He picks up the empty pizza box and says, "It's late and I'm pretty sure that I promised Susan I'd call her at some point this evening. I'll take this to the garbage chute on my way out."

"You better hurry," I tease. "The evening will be over in about half an hour."

"Bye, Tris," he says with a smile and gives me another hug before he leaves.

Christina yawns deeply once Caleb is gone. She gives me a look like she's going to ask me a question, and even opens her mouth, but then closes it again.

"What, Christina?" I ask with a sigh.

"Nothing," she says as she shakes her head. "I just get the idea that there's something about the whole thing with Four and Marcus that you haven't told me."

"Christina," I say with a sigh, "I would tell you if I could, but I promised to keep it under wraps for now. I'm not even supposed to know, myself."

She leans back in the chair, crosses her arms over her chest, and narrows her eyes at me.

"I know you remember most of what happened before you were kidnapped. I've seen your timelines and your journals. So, I know that you remember all of the secrets you kept back then and how much trouble they ended up causing. Where there are secrets, there is conflict."

"Spoken like a true Candor," I say, my voice heavy with fatigue. "Please don't quote the manifesto at me tonight, Christina. It won't help. I have to keep this secret because it will hurt more people than it will help if I tell it. Just trust me, please."

She gives me a measured look. I know she's reading my body language, trying to identify my tells and measure my responses.

"Fine. I'll let you keep this one, but don't say I didn't warn you." She yawns again. "Good night, Tris," she says and walks to her room, shutting the door behind her.

I rub my eyes after she leaves the room. Maybe the Candor had it right. Maybe the worst thing we can do to one another is keep secrets, even when the truth is terrible. Secrets only protect a person from harm as long as they are kept, and they unravel if too quickly if too many questions are asked.

Shaking my head, I remember that the awful truth I think I know is still just circumstantial suspicion. No good would come out of revealing it now, before evidence can be found to prove it. And if Tobias doesn't know about it, he can't act on it.

My phone vibrates loudly on the coffee table, startling me out of my thoughts. I glance at the clock before I scramble to answer it. Why would anyone be calling me at this time of night? My stomach sinks like a rock when I see Tobias's number on the call ID. My hand shakes as I accept the call and put the phone to my ear.

"Tris," he says, his deep voice rumbling on the other end of the line. My name is a sigh of relief on his lips.

"Tobias," I say carefully, taking a deep and painful breath.

"Thanks for answering. I know it's late."

"Yeah, it's okay. I haven't gone to bed yet, so you didn't wake me."

"Good," he says after a moment. "Listen, we need to talk, and I'd really like to see you." I can hear the tension in his voice, like he's a string ready to snap.

"Now?" I ask, barely keeping a handle on my surprise. "It's almost midnight."

"I guess it is a little late," he says with a chuckle. God, I miss that chuckle. I close my eyes and imagine his face, his eyes twinkling with humor and the corners of his mouth tugging up in a small smile. A fresh wave of heartache tears through my chest and tears prick at my eyes.

"Can I pick you up tomorrow morning for breakfast, maybe around ten?"

"Uh, yeah," I say, forcing myself to pay attention to the phone call. I clear my throat and answer more firmly. "Yes. I'll meet you downstairs."

"Okay," he says. The relief in his voice carries clearly over the line. "I'll see you tomorrow. Goodnight, Tris." His voice is soft and careful.

"Goodnight, Tobias."

The line goes quiet and I barely notice my phone play the tone that indicates the call has ended. I put my phone down on the coffee table, then put my face in my hands and cry, all of the pain and frustration and worry from the week wrenching itself out of me at once.

"Shit, Tris," says Christina as she comes over and puts an arm around me. I hadn't even noticed her open her bedroom door. "It's okay. Hush, now." She whispers soothing words as I just sit there and sob. When I manage to calm down, she gives me a questioning look.

"Tobias just called me," I say and frown as she stiffens. "He didn't say anything to upset me. I just miss him so much it hurts. I feel like I haven't been able to breathe all week."

She frowns at me.

"I have never met two people with more talent for cutting each other to pieces than the two of you," she says. "I can't tell which of you is the bigger masochist. I'm beginning to think you both like the pain a little too much."

I laugh, because I can't help it.

"So what did lover boy want?"

"To see me, actually. To talk."

"At midnight?" she asks, her eyes widening. "The man is impossible. He doesn't call you for a week and then decides he wants to meet at midnight?"

"No, Christina," I say with a smile. "He's picking me up tomorrow morning at ten for breakfast.

"Oh," she says. "Well, that's almost acceptable."

I roll my eyes at her and nudge her with my shoulder.

"You'd better go get some sleep if you're going to be working late tomorrow night," I tell her. "You don't want to be too cranky with the cashiers. They might quit."

"At this point, I'm really tempted to fire them. Brianna can't balance her till to save her life and Jayme is the most annoying person I've ever met. She would have been perfect for Amity." She pauses to groan. "You're right though; I'm exhausted. You okay out here?"

"For now, at least."

She nods at me and heads back to bed, leaving me to my own devices. It doesn't take me long to get ready for bed, then I stretch out on the couch and pull the throw blanket over my legs. I try to empty my mind and even my breathing, but sleep is elusive tonight.

I must manage to fall asleep at some point, because I wake screaming from another nightmare a few hours later. This time, I've managed to turn around and run from the demon, but he catches me before I manage to get out of the circle of light and into the darkness that I know will hide me. My back burns, remembering the phantom pain of his claws dragging through my flesh. I struggle to slow my breathing, my hand to my heart as if that would help even its rhythm.

Christina doesn't wake tonight to help me calm down. She must be too tired and still deeply asleep. I miss her comfort, but I have to learn to manage this on my own, so I push the disappointment down and concentrate again on my breathing.

_It isn__'t real. He did not do this to me. He would _never _do this to me. _

Those thoughts ring in my head as I lay back down on the couch. I close my eyes, counting as I breathe, willing my heart back into a steady and slow rhythm. I don't move again until morning.

9


	15. Chapter 15

**Author's Note: **This chapter was really hard for me to write. I didn't want to take it where it ended up, but the characters, mostly Tris, had other ideas, and she's right. Please don't hate me too much.

* * *

_**Tobias**_

I stare at the phone in my hand, not sure how I managed to make it through that conversation while keeping my voice so steady, because I am anything but calm inside. My ears are ringing and my heart feels like it's about to beat its way out of my chest. I have no idea what I'm going to say to her in the morning. Considering how poorly I've slept since last weekend, I'm sure I still have most of the night to figure it out, to turn everything I'm thinking over in my mind and come up with something.

It's ironic to think that not even a week ago I was waking up next to her, realizing that living without her is the worst hell I could ever imagine. That's exactly what the last four days have been. I spent the first half of the week caught in the absolute fury that Tris couldn't understand the necessity for what I wanted to do, that she would make me choose between her and my revenge.

Her words continued to play over and over in my mind until I finally understood them: _If you do this, you__'ll never, ever come back from it. _We_ will never come back from it. You__'ll just be confirming every subconscious fear that I have. You will become the monster that you keep trying to convince me you're not, that I believe you are not._

The rebuke didn't actually sting for several days because I was too angry. That anger kept me from being able to comprehend exactly what she was telling me, that her faith in me can only be destroyed by one person: me. Despite everything that's been done to her to make her fear me, I am the only person who could ever make those fears into reality.

When I finally understood that, it felt like a wet blanket was thrown on top of the fire of the revenge I had been plotting. The momentum that had been building within me, driving me toward the certainty that I would be the one to kill my own father, faltered and died. Shame was all that was left in its place. I was moments away from killing my own father, and I surely would have if I'd been able to find him in those three days. There would have been no remorse. I would have become just like Marcus, and that is the very thing that I have spent my entire adult life fighting.

"Are you okay, Four?" asks Amar. I've been at his place this evening because the silence and stillness of my own apartment felt like a living thing that was eating me alive. It was his nudging that prompted me to call her, if you can call it nudging. He all but dialed the number for me after he and George thoroughly chewed me out for being a dick.

"Yeah," I say as I draw a sharp breath. I shove my phone back in my pocket. "Thank you for the much needed kick in the ass."

"Any time," says George across the room.

"I know you like to keep your cards close to the vest, man," says Amar, "but you have to start talking to someone about your daddy issues. You can't keep everything bottled up like you have or you'll lose control of yourself at the smallest disruption, like you did this week. It's probably more important now that she's back in your life."

I give Amar a hard look.

"Hey, don't glare at me just because you don't like what I have to say. I'm the one who taught you that look, remember? Besides, if you'd listened to me years ago, you would be a much more lovable guy today."

"I'm lovable enough," I growl back. I know he's teasing me, but the tops of my ears are still burning with embarrassment.

"Sure you are," Amar says with a laugh. George coughs into his hand to cover his laughter. "Ain't he just so cute when he's embarrassed, Georgie?"

"Fucking adorable," George says in agreement.

"You two are just not right," I say. I know the harmless teasing is meant to lift my mood, and I join them in laughing at my own folly.

* * *

The rest of my night passes quietly, but I welcome the stillness in a way that I was unable to do before talking to George and Amar. I still don't manage to get much sleep. My empty bed seems so much colder without Tris even if she's only ever been in it with me for one night, but the chill is no less than I deserve after pushing her away like I did last weekend.

The morning is slow in coming, but I still have no idea what I'm going to say before I climb in my truck to pick Tris up from Christina's. I never have trouble finding the right things to tell her when she's been hurt by other people. It's always been easy to push her past the pain or comfort her when the pain is too great to overcome on her own. When I am the one who twists the knife, it's a different story. It's so easy to forget that under her strength lays a deep vulnerability that she would gladly deny exists because she thinks it makes her weak. One of these days, she'll realize that it's the foundation for everything good and strong about her. When that happens, she'll be unstoppable.

When I pull up in front of Christina's apartment building, I have to wipe my suddenly sweaty palms on my pants. She's waiting outside the building, sitting in the bright morning sun on a sidewalk bench. There's nothing extraordinary about what she's wearing or how she's done her hair, but she still takes my breath away. She gives me an unsteady smile when I climb out of the truck.

"Hi," I say to her, trying to not sound as awkward as I feel.

"Hi," she answers quietly as she stands.

"You ready to go?" I offer her my hand and pray that she'll take it.

"Yeah," she says as she slips her fingers between mine. The vice grip around my heart eases its pressure just a little bit at that small contact.

As I help her climb into the passenger side of the truck, I curse myself for the umpteenth time for not having the time to have the running boards installed. She doesn't complain about it this morning. I'll add it to my list of things to do, eventually.

"So," she asks when I pull back into traffic, "where are we going?"

"There's a diner a few blocks away from the station where Zeke works that has a really great breakfast menu. It's not fancy, but it's good food, and it's comfortable and quiet this time of the morning on Sundays."

"Sounds good," she says. "Skipping brunch with Evelyn this week?"

"She's still working on getting her apartment cleaned up. The police only released the scene a couple of days ago."

"Oh."

The diner is practically empty when we get there. The only other customers are a couple of uniformed officers grabbing a bite to eat. I guide her to a table on the other side of the restaurant, hoping for as much privacy as possible in a public place, and sit next to her rather than across from her. The waitress brings us waters and takes our drink orders, and then an awkward silence stretches between us as Tris looks over the menu. She looks up at me and raises an eyebrow.

"Not even going to look?" she asks as she points at the menu I haven't touched.

"I already know what I'm ordering," I say.

"Care to make a recommendation?" she asks dryly. "I have no idea what sounds best right now."

"Do you trust me to order for you?"

She gives me a measured look before answering.

"Sure," she says.

The waitress comes back with my coffee and Tris's orange juice and I order two vegetable omelets with toast. Tris raises an eyebrow at me.

"What?" I ask when the waitress walks away.

"Vegetable omelets? I figured you'd pick the half-stack of pancakes, three eggs over easy, and bacon."

"The omelets are great here," I say as I take a drink of my coffee. "I can make the other stuff at home, but I have yet to perfect the omelet folding technique."

She laughs at me. "Alright, I'll take your word for it."

"I appreciate your vote of confidence," I say. Before I can go on, I have to stop to clear my throat because it feels like my heart has taken up permanent residence there. "Listen, Tris—"

"I know," she interrupts and all traces of her humor from a moment ago are gone. Her voice sounds tired and cautious, just like it did on the phone last night. "We need to talk. Do you mind if it waits until after we've eaten? I'm nervous enough that the food will probably taste like sawdust as it is. I don't know if I'll have much an appetite if we have to fight before it gets to the table."

I sit back in my chair and look at her. "Is that you think? That I brought you here to fight?"

"If not that, then what?"

"Did you really think that I would do that to you? Did it never occur to you that I might be here to apologize, Tris?" I ask carefully.

She closes her eyes for a moment and takes a deep breath. When she opens her eyes again, her expression is calm and composed and her tone of voice is just as careful as my own.

"I didn't know what to think, Tobias. After last weekend, and a week of ignoring my phone calls, can you blame me for expecting the worst right now?"

And there is that vulnerability, shining out from her eyes just for a moment before she looks away from me. I lean forward and put my hand over hers where it lies on the table.

"Tris," I say softly. "Please look at me." I wait until her eyes meet mine again before I continue. I still don't know what to say, so I just open my mouth and let my heart do the talking. "I was wrong. It took me a while to figure it out, but you were right. I'm sorry."

"You're not going after Marcus?" she asks, her voice still careful.

"No, I'm not, not that I ever really knew where to start looking for him in the first place."

"Why the change of heart?"

I sit back again, taking another drink of my coffee as I consider what I could possibly say to explain it. The truth is better than anything else I could tell her, so I force myself to look in her eyes again and continue.

"I think I finally actually heard what you told me last week, that I would become a monster, not because of anything that anyone else has said or done, but because it would be my own choice. Even after everything, you see something in me that most people never look close enough to see. You have faith in me even though you have no reason for it. You still believe that I can choose to be better than my past, better than the way I was raised, better than anything I may be predisposed to be. And maybe, you believing in me is enough for me to make it the truth."

A tear falls from her eye, and I lean forward again to catch it before it runs down her cheek. She closes her eyes and leans into my palm, putting her hand over mine to hold it there. I realize for the first time how right the Abnegation were about the power of physical contact. With Tris, every touch we have ever shared has always seemed important, but this small thing, her cheek leaning against my hand, feels even more important than all the others together. This touch means that she will forgive me, that we will be alright, and that we will make things right between us.

"One of the things you told me before—" my throat closes around the words and I have to swallow before I can speak again. "One of the things you told me at the Bureau was that we'll have to forgive each other over and over again if we're going to make this work, and that forgiveness isn't the point of things between us. Since you've been back, I've struggled with the question of whether or not we still fit like we did. And, Tris, I'm not strong enough to fight whatever it is that's between us anymore. All I know is that I need you, that I am nothing without you."

She opens her eyes and more tears gather in them. She puts her other hand on my jaw, catching a tear that I didn't even know was there.

We're interrupted by the waitress, who brings our food and awkwardly places it on the table in front of us. I thank her when she refills my coffee, but I'm impatient for her to leave. We eat for a while in silence, and Tris picks at her omelet, clearly thinking about the things I've said.

"Care to tell me what you're thinking?" I ask.

"I'm just wondering if this is the way things are going to be between us. Your best friend and mine have both told me that we've always tended to hurt one another. And from what I remember, I know that they're right."

I frown as I swallow another bite of food. "They are. But most of the hurt was from decisions we likely wouldn't have made if circumstances had been different, if Erudite hadn't gone to war with Abnegation. That isn't the way it has to be now."

"But that is the way things are now, Tobias," she says as she puts her fork down on her plate. She looks up at me with guarded eyes. "In the last five weeks, I've shut you out, you've shut me out, and we've hurt one another with decisions we both made. And this time around, it took outside intervention before you would talk to me about it. Are the good days worth it for you? Because we haven't had one good day, not a whole one, in that entire time. Can you survive it if all we ever do is hurt one another? I'm not sure that I can."

My chest tightens on itself and my stomach drops like a stone. I put my own fork down, put my elbows on the table, clench my fists together, and rest my chin on my thumbs. I want to argue with her, to say that she's wrong. But she's not wrong.

I remember something that Johanna Reyes told me once about my father. The harder he tried to maintain control, the harder he tried to hang onto my mother, the more she pulled away. She said that relationships are like trying to hold sand in your fist. The tighter you close your fingers, the more the sand slips from your grasp. You can hold more sand in an open palm than a closed fist.

Even though I want to hang on to her, to keep her with me, I have to open my palm. I have to be willing to let her go, even if it feels like it's going to kill me.

"It's your decision, Tris," I say, choking on the words. "I'm not going to try to force you into something you don't want. I wish I could promise you that we'll never hurt one another ever again, but it wouldn't be the truth."

The waitress comes back, breaking the tension and politely asking us if we need anything else. I ask for the check and Tris asks for a box for the rest of her omelet, which is still mostly untouched. The waitress takes her leftovers to box them for her, and while we're alone together again, I fight the desire to take Tris's hand in my own. I need the comfort of her touch because the distance between us is now greater than it's ever been, and it feels like it's going to swallow me whole.

"Do you want me to take you back to Christina's?" I ask after I've paid the check and tip.

"I honestly don't know what I want right now, Tobias," she says. "But I need some time to think."

I nod my head and follow her outside. The mid-day sun that I thought was cheerfully bright just an hour ago is now a harsh glare in my eyes. We walk slowly to my truck and as I help her back into the passenger seat, her touch burns along my skin. The drive back to Christina's apartment is silent and tense. Tris lets me walk her upstairs to the apartment door. I lean against the wall looking at the ground as she unlocks it and lets herself in.

"Thanks for breakfast," she says after a moment's hesitation. "And, no matter where things go from here, please believe me when I say that I forgive you."

"Can I call you tomorrow?"

She considers that for a moment, then answers, "I'll call you when I'm ready."

I don't look at her as I nod. She opens the door and whispers a good bye. The door closes and I hear her slide the dead bolt into place. For a moment, I am frozen. My own heartbeat pulses loudly in my ears and I fight for a steady breath. When I hear her gasp and start to cry, I force myself to turn around and walk away.

* * *

I spent the afternoon pacing my apartment, replaying the morning and trying to figure out how I could have done things differently. By the time I leave to meet Amar, George, and Zeke at the gym in the evening, I'm looking forward to taking some of my frustration out on the punching bags. When the others arrive, I've already started wrapping my knuckles. Amar asks me how the morning went.

"She accepted the apology, then she decided she wants to think about things for a while because she's not sure if she can deal with the baggage we have together."

"That sucks," says George. He doesn't sound surprised.

"Yeah, it does," I say.

"What exactly did she say?" asks Zeke.

"That both her best friend and mine have told her that we tend to hurt one another more often than not," I say, not even bothering to look at him.

"Hey, man, I'm just trying to look out for you."

"Well, I'd appreciate it if you wouldn't try so hard," I say. I take a deep breath and shake out my arms to release some of the tension in my shoulders. I really can't blame Zeke for the way things went this morning, no matter how much I'm tempted. "You might not want to be on the other side of the bag tonight, Zeke. I'm not aiming to hurt someone, but I might be hitting it pretty hard."

"Looks like you're up, Amar," says Zeke. Amar is the only one who's ever been able to handle the bag when I really let go. Zeke's too short and George is too evenly matched to my size and weight. Amar is taller and heavier, but even he sometimes struggles to keep up with me.

Amar swears under his breath but takes up position on the other side of the bag. I really do try to start out easy, keeping my pace slow while warming up my arms. The softer jabs and punches just don't do anything for me, and before long I'm putting everything I am into it, aiming to punch through the bag. I lose myself in the violence of it, turning myself over to the rush of energy and release of power as each blow lands harder than the last. I'm so far gone that I completely miss when Amar gives me the signal that he needs to take a break and it takes both Zeke and George grabbing my shoulders and pulling me off the bag to get me to stop.

"I'm alright," I say quickly, shrugging them off once I realize what happened. "I'm alright. You ok, Amar?"

"Yeah," says Amar, bending over to catch his breath and holding his left shoulder tenderly. "You need to find something else to do, though. I can't hold it anymore, and if I can't do it, then Zeke and George won't be able to either." He stands back up, still holding his shoulder as George hands him an ice pack. "It might have been better for you to hit the range."

"Probably," I say with a nod. "I'm not sure anything is going to help tonight, though." I turn around and head for a treadmill. Maybe I can run it off. As I run, I focus on the here and now, the sound of my feet pounding against the belt, the length of my stride as I settle into a sustainable pace, keeping my breathing even and steady. I empty myself on the treadmill.

My legs burn and shake as I step off the treadmill an hour later. I'm physically exhausted and my mind is quiet. I look around and see that George and Amar have already left. Zeke is standing next to the locker room door, already showered and changed, his mouth drawn into an uncharacteristic frown. He follows me into the locker room, which is empty except for us.

"What, Zeke?" I ask as I open the locker and pull out my duffel bag.

"Just making sure you're ok," he says, his tone of voice cautious. He leans his shoulder against one of the other lockers on the other side of the room.

"I'll be fine."

"Want to say that one more time with feeling?"

I look at him for a moment.

"What do you want from me, man? You practically campaigned for this, telling her to get out quickly last weekend. Now you want to do damage control? I figured you'd be relieved that she took your advice. Well, congratulations. She got out. You got your wish."

"That isn't what I wanted, and you know it. Did it ever occur to you that the best thing for both of you might not be to be together? She may have been the one for you all those years ago, but in case you haven't noticed, neither of you are exactly the same people you were back then."

"You've been talking to Cara too much." I slam the locker door shut.

"You should listen to her," he says.

I sit down on the bench between the rows of lockers and put my elbows on my knees, touching holding my forehead in my hands.

"What if it was you, Zeke?" I ask. My voice is unsteady. I look up at him. "Could you walk away from Shauna? Would you expect Amar to walk away from George? You all act as if it's impossible for things to work with me and Tris, but I can't help but notice that you've been with your significant others at least as long as a decade and have been through your fair share of shit. I don't why you're so eager for me to give up."

"I'm not saying that," he says. "I just think you need to stop and manage your expectations. Don't let this eat you alive. You need to keep living your life, and you have to make yourself be okay with the possibility that she might not be part of it."

"I'll take it under advisement," I say as I stand and head for the showers, not waiting for his reply.


	16. Chapter 16

_**Tobias**_

Tris doesn't call me. At first, I'm optimistic that she'll just take a few days, maybe a week, and then she'll pick up her phone. After the first week, it took every ounce of strength I possess to keep from calling her or breaking down Christina's door. But then another week goes by, followed by another, and then a month has passed. Over time, the ache of missing her grows dull and I become numb.

Amar and Zeke take it upon themselves to keep me busy when I'm not at work. They think they're helping, and I appreciate the distractions at first. I finally told them after about three weeks that they needed to stop worrying about me and start focusing on their own home lives. They still watch me closely at the gym and the range, but they've backed off for the most part.

The stillness of my apartment eventually becomes tolerable. My bed is still cold at night, even in the blistering heat of summer. I try to exhaust myself physically and mentally whenever possible so I can manage to get some sleep at night. The more time that passes, the easier it becomes to be alone. It's still hell, but it's a familiar one. I eventually settle into a routine that I can manage to keep while mostly keeping myself on autopilot.

Marcus has kept quiet since he tossed Evelyn's apartment, most likely because she stopped seeing Nathaniel right after that. I tried to talk her out of breaking it off, but she was determined. She said that, when it came right down to it, she didn't feel like she could trust Nathaniel enough to tell him everything so she shouldn't lead him on by continuing to see him. I feel sorry for him. He and I had a beer together after she broke it off, sympathizing with one another. I hope she eventually changes her mind. He's actually a decent guy.

I don't trust that Marcus will continue to keep quiet. He's waiting for something to happen, some opportunity that he can seize to exercise what he believes is his rightful power over Evelyn and me. I don't trust for one moment that he's not stalking either one of us, even if there haven't been any signs of it. That's the only reason I can find to be relieved that Tris separated from me when she did; Marcus can't target her to get to me as easily. I have to keep that in mind until Marcus is found and put behind bars. It's the only thing that helps make things feel remotely bearable right now.

Last week, Zeke invited me to dinner to celebrate Shauna's birthday. I hesitated before accepting the invitation, but Zeke wouldn't let me decline. He reserved the banquet room at Shauna's favorite restaurant and apparently invited everyone Shauna knows. He's absolutely certain that it wouldn't be the same without me, so I ended up accepting the invitation.

I'm late to the party because I got stuck at one of the construction sites in the old Dauntless sector with a contractor issue. By the time I get there, there's only one chair left at the long row of tables, and about thirty people in the room. The moment I walk through the door, my eyes find Tris on the other side of the room. She's talking to Christina and another woman I haven't met, and sitting next to a guy whose arm is propped on the back of Tris's chair. I force myself to breathe evenly, keeping myself together. Tris's expression is carefully guarded when she looks at me, but she makes no attempt to force the guy next to her to remove his arm from her chair.

I settle into the remaining chair, which is between Amar and Cara. They both give me knowing looks that I choose not to acknowledge.

"How's it going, Four?" asks George, seated on the other side of Amar.

"It's going," I say while trying on a smile and careless attitude. One good thing to come out of my childhood is that I developed a talent for hiding how I truly feel. I pull that self-possession around myself tonight like a blanket. "How about yourself?" I ask as I place my drink order with the waiter.

"Good, good," says George. "Job hold you up?"

"Yeah," I say rolling my eyes. "The majority of the demolition and clean up is finished in the old Dauntless sector, but I'm beginning to think that there isn't a single competent carpenter in the entire city."

_I can do this,_ I think as I continue with the light banter at the table. _If she can be here with someone else as if nothing ever happened between us, then I can get through this with a smile on my face._

Dinner is pleasant enough, but I barely taste my food. It helps that Tris, of whom I seem to be hyper-aware, is sitting at the other end of the table. Since she's also seated on the same side, I don't even see her unless I lean far enough forward or backward to see around all the people between us. I have a brief moment to consider whether the seating arrangements were deliberate, but I decide just as quickly that it doesn't matter.

After most of us are finished eating, Zeke stands up as the team of wait staff comes out and presents a thoroughly embarrassed Shauna with a complimentary cupcake and a rather rowdy round of a birthday chorus. When they're done, Zeke holds up his drink and offers a toast.

"To my darling wife," he says as the men at the table whoop and holler at him. He glares at us playfully and then continues. "To my wife, who is turning twenty-nine for the third time tonight, or is it the fourth, dear?" Shauna's gives him a look that could have killed. "Third time, then. Or should I say second for good measure to stay out of the dog house?" We all laugh as he clears his throat, a sure sign that he's about to say something that is uncharacteristically sensitive. "Shauna, with each day that passes, I find myself thinking I couldn't love you more only to be proved wrong time and again. You are the strongest woman I've ever known and considering all of the kick-ass ladies we have at this table tonight, that's saying something. You are also the most patient woman alive, because that's what it takes to put up with me on a daily basis." There are more chuckles around the table. "Remember that your best years are ahead of you and I will be there with you for every high, every low, and everything in between. Happy birthday, Babe!"

Shauna's blushing by the time he finishes and kisses her cheek. It's hard not to smile at them. Zeke tends to have a knack for spreading a good mood wherever he goes. I know the toast wasn't rehearsed but he still managed to find just the right words for the occasion.

I look up from the table just in time to see Tris slip out of the banquet room with Christina. I stare at the door for a couple of minutes, trying to decide whether I should go after her.

"Don't even think about it, Tobias," says Amar, guessing what I'm thinking. "She won't take too kindly to a scene."

"I know," I say as I take another drink from the beer I've been drinking. I know I shouldn't follow her, but it's hard to remain seated. I want to talk to her, to demand explanations. I pick at the label on the bottle I'm holding and blow out a breath.

"What are you thinking, man?" Amar asks.

"I don't even know anymore," I say, carefully keeping my voice empty of emotion.

Tris and Christina return a few minutes later, but the party is starting to break up and people are filtering out. The guy who had been sitting next to Tris walks over to her and kisses her cheek while I watch. He either has no idea who I am or he has a death wish, and I'd wager it's the latter if I were a betting man. I can feel the back of my neck heat up as anger begins to burn in my blood. Thankfully, the bastard leaves before pushing his luck any more than he already has.

I linger at the table, but I'm not even trying to follow the conversation between Matthew, Cara, Amar, and George. I'm watching Tris as Christina crosses her arms and argues with Tris about something I can't hear. Tris must win the argument because Christina finally throws her hands up as if she's giving up on something. They both approach the table where we're all sitting, and Christina takes a seat next to Cara, who moved across the table a few minutes earlier to sit closer to Matthew. Tris sits in the chair next to me, sitting sideways so she's facing me. For the second time tonight, I find it difficult to breathe. The tension between us is unmistakable and the others around us try to ignore it, but I can tell it's awkward for all of them. Amar's jaw ticks and he looks over at Zeke, who frowns at Tris.

"How are you?" Tris asks me quietly, almost as if she's trying not to be overheard by the others.

I don't answer right away. I don't know if I should be honest or if I should lie. The truth is that I'm surviving, barely. I finally decide that I don't want to lie to her again.

"I'm making it through," I say carefully. I clear my throat and look at her. "You look good, Tris."

She does. She's finally back to a normal weight for her height and I can tell that her physical therapist has started her on strength and resistance exercises because her muscle definition is a lot better than the last time I saw her. Her skin is still pale, but she no longer looks sick.

"Thank you," she says as she looks down at her hands on her lap.

"Have Christina and your new friend been keeping you busy?" Hardness slips into my voice that I can't quite seem to stop.

She looks up at me again, a frown pulling at her mouth. After a moment of consideration, she says, "Something like that."

I just nod and then clear my throat. It's all the confirmation I need that my suspicions are correct. Just that quickly, I find that I can't sit at that table another minute.

"Well," I say as I stand up and walk behind Amar, George, and Zeke to give Shauna a hug, "it was nice to see you guys. Happy birthday, Shauna."

"See you at the gym tomorrow?" Zeke asks as I shake his hand, a frown on his face.

"Yeah," I say.

As I walk out of the restaurant, I'm not even aware that Tris is following me until I'm in the parking lot.

"What the hell is wrong with you, Tobias?" she shouts.

I turn around and she's standing about twenty feet behind me, her arms crossed over her chest, glaring at me.

"What's wrong with me?" I ask, anger running hot through my blood. "Hell, I don't know, Tris. Maybe I'm just in a bad mood. I could even just be really tired. Or maybe, I just figured out that I've been waiting six weeks for a call that isn't ever going to happen. Tell me, Tris were you actually planning on calling me again or did you decide that it would be more fun to show up with your new boyfriend and twist the knife?"

She takes a deep breath, blowing it out quickly.

"It isn't like that," she says, her voice steady.

"Then what is it like?" I say, voice heated as I walk back to where she stands. "Tell me, please. Explain it to me, Tris. I'm listening."

"Jason isn't my boyfriend. He works with Shauna, who introduced us a couple weeks ago and I've been in the same room with him a grand total of three times before tonight. He's pushy and annoying and he must have noticed the way we looked at each other when you walked in the room and decided to try to make his move. The only reason I ended up sitting next to him is because _you_ were late. And the biggest reason I haven't called because I'm still trying to figure out who I even am anymore." She stops for breath and pulls her hands through her hair. I notice the tears gathering in her eyes. "I can't be with anyone until I figure that out."

I clench my jaw but I don't say anything.

"No one seems to realize that I lost more than twelve years of my life," she says, looking down at the ground. "The last real thing I remember before I woke up in your apartment in April was David shooting me in the back in the weapons room and all I remember about the missing years in between are the things from my nightmares. Half of what I remember from before then doesn't even feel like it happened to me. As far as I'm concerned, I woke up in a different world and I can't figure out where I belong in it."

I'm close enough to her that I can't keep myself from touching her. I cup her jaw with my palms and tangle my fingers in her hair, tipping her head back so I can see her eyes. Time may have changed things about both of us, but her bright eyes still demand attention, and I am drawn to the light in them like a moth to a flame.

"You belong with me," I say quietly. "It's where you've always belonged."

"And that's the other reason I haven't called," she says. "I'm not the girl you remember, and I can't be with you knowing that it's not really me that you love, but someone who doesn't exist anymore."

She steps back from me and pulls away from my hands. My arms drop to my sides, feeling heavier than their actual weight. I'm rooted to that spot, looking down at her, and I have no idea what to say because I'm too stunned by what she's said.

"I'm sorry, Tobias," she says. "I wish I could be who you want me to be." She turns around and walks back into the restaurant, passing Christina who had stopped just outside the door and was listening with a frown on her face and a knowing look in her eyes.

"What is it, Christina?" My voice sounds hoarse in my ears, thick with tears that I won't shed right now, not in front of her.

"You don't need to be jealous," she says. "Jason's an asshole with overcompensation issues. He's too insecure for her, which was made painfully obvious when you walked in the room and practically stamped 'Property of Tobias Eaton' in neon ink on Tris's forehead. She'll eventually figure things out, and your number will be the first one she calls."

"Why are you telling me this?" I ask. "According to Tris, you've been on the breakup band wagon with Zeke and Cara since day one. You should be thrilled about this."

"I'll never be thrilled when a very dear friend of mine is in pain," she says, her frown deepening. "And there is no band wagon. The fact that Zeke and I actually agree on something should be a pretty big clue that you should listen to us. After all, I've been your friend longer than I've been hers, considering she was gone for so long."

"Is there any truth to what she just said?" I ask, my voice quiet and hoarse. "I may not be very objective, but she seems like the person she was before. Is she really so different?"

Christina takes a deep breath. "In some ways, no. Little things, like her mannerisms and her sense of humor, seem to be the same. But in all the ways that count, yes, she's very different than she was. I've never seen her so uncertain, so afraid. She doesn't have the strength of conviction she once possessed. She seems more vulnerable, more fragile. She hates it, too. She wants to be able to stand on her own, to bear the weight of the trauma by herself, but she's crumbling under the pressure she puts on herself."

"That doesn't sound so very different," I say. "She's always been too stubborn to reach out and ask for help when she needed it."

"True. But the last thing she needs or wants right now is to get so wrapped up in you that she loses herself completely. She has to rediscover her strength on her own, just like she did during initiation. She has to reassert control over herself and her identity. At least, that's what she tells me her shrink thinks is going on."

During her initiation, there were so many things that prevented me from protecting Tris and sheltering her, bearing her burdens as if they were my own. As her instructor, any extra help I could have given her would have been seen as favoritism. It was dangerous to let my interest show when Eric was watching her like hawk, like he watched Amar, who had to fake his own death and disappear the year before. Even if Tris hadn't been Divergent, Eric would have hurt her to get to me because I was the biggest threat to his position and power as a Dauntless leader. That all seemed to be moot when the factions fell into war, and even before then, I had quickly learned that Tris didn't need my help to be strong. She could always stand on her own.

I run my hand over my hair and rub the back of my neck.

"Can you at least tell me how she's doing every once in a while?" I ask Christina quietly. "I can't stand not knowing."

Christina nods her head. "Sure," she says. "She's doing really well, lately. She doesn't have nearly as many of the bad nightmares as she did. Her physical therapy has been cut to once a week and she's started training with George at the gym in the mornings. In a few weeks, she'll probably be discharged. Zeke's working on getting her on as a police dispatcher while she finishes some classes and training to be a cop. She's already started consulting with Zeke on a couple of cases and his chief is impressed with her insight.

"Just because she won't let you in doesn't mean that the rest of us aren't watching out for her on your behalf. You need to trust us. We'll take care of her for you if she needs it."

I nod at her, unable to put a voice to my gratitude. Christina gives me a quick hug before I turn back around and head to my truck. Once I'm in the cab, I lean my head back against the seat's headrest and let out a slow breath. I try not to think about the evening as I turn the ignition and drive home.

By the time I get to my apartment, I feel spent. I'm so lost in thought that I almost don't notice the large manila envelope that's been pushed under my door. I pick it up, examining it for any signs of where it came from. There's no writing on the outside. I take it to the bar and open it, shaking its contents out on the top of the bar.

It takes me a moment to process what I'm seeing. The pictures from the envelope don't seem to have any significance at first. They're large color photos of a girl. Then I notice who she is; Tris is in every single one of them. In some of the shots, she's with Christina or Caleb. I recognize Jason in a few of them, smiling at her in a way that makes my blood boil. They're all very candid photos and Tris doesn't seem to be aware that she's being photographed in any of them. One on the very bottom looks like it's been taken while she's in the women's locker room at the gym because she's standing in front of an open locker wearing only a sports bra and a pair of shorts. Someone has drawn red circle and 'X' over Tris's face in every photo.

Shaking the envelope, I look for a note or some other writing. But there's nothing there. There are no identifying marks, no symbols other than the circles and 'X's.

Tearing my mobile phone out of my pocket, I curse and quickly dial Zeke's number.

"Hey, man," he answers. "You forget something?"

"No, but I have something here that you're going to want to see."

"And that would be?"

"I found a package of photos that had been slipped under my door while we were at dinner. It wasn't there when I got home to clean up or before I left for the restaurant. Tris is in every single one of them and her face has been crossed out."

"Shit. Don't touch anything any more than you already have. I'm driving Shauna home, but I'll be there in about an hour. Call Amar. Stalking is more his department than mine."

"Thanks," I say. "Have I mentioned yet how handy it is that you're a cop?"

"I'll be there soon."

I hang up on Zeke and call Amar, giving him the same information. He also tells me not to touch the pictures or envelope and that he'll be there soon. Unable to do more, I drop heavily onto my couch to wait.

* * *

**Author's Note: **Please, please, please don't flay me if you're as much of an avid Tris/Tobias shipper as I am. Tris is being maddeningly stubborn right now and refuses to cooperate with my attempts at reconciliation. That's why this chapter is so much later than normal. I'm working on it. Anyone have the recipe for Dauntless cake? Maybe I can coax her into cooperation...


	17. Chapter 17

_**Tobias**_

Zeke arrives roughly at the same time as Amar and George. They make quick work of packaging up the photos and envelope in individual plastic bags, putting on plastic gloves first and handling everything carefully.

"Is this all of it?" asks Amar.

"Yeah," I reply. "There wasn't anything in the envelope except the photos. Nothing else was pushed under the door with it."

"I must be missing something," says George. "If the pictures are of Tris, why weren't they delivered to Christina's apartment?"

"Because she's not the actual target," says Amar. He looks right at me and I nod. "The target is Four."

"Come again?" asks George. Unlike Amar and Zeke, George isn't actually a cop. He works for the city training new officers in marksmanship and hand-to-hand combat, but he's never worn a badge or worked a case. When it came down to it, he was more soldier than cop and didn't really have the aptitude for more than walking a beat the rest of his life, which just didn't appeal to him. I don't blame him.

"He's stalking her because he knows the best way to strike at me is through her," I say.

"We don't know for sure that it's Marcus," says Zeke.

"Who else could it be, Zeke?" I ask. "I'm a mid-level civil servant with no social life outside a very small circle of friends, most of whom are standing in the room. The only enemy I ever had who didn't end up getting a dose of memory serum was Marcus."

"Just because the circumstantial case is strong doesn't mean it's correct," says Amar as he gathers up the photos and envelope. "We'll see if we can pull prints off of any of this, but it isn't likely. Even if we can lift anything, we probably won't find a match. Marcus's DNA is in the Bureau databases, but not his prints. Your prints are on file for elimination, right?"

"Yeah, I just had to have them done again a few months ago."

"Good," says Zeke. "There probably aren't any other prints on them, but it'll help to know which ones are yours."

"Was there anything found at Evelyn's apartment last month?" I ask.

"No," says Zeke. "The fucker was wearing gloves and probably had a hat on or has kept his hair buzzed short like he did before. We didn't find a single partial print or hair follicle that didn't come back to your mother, you, or Nathaniel."

"So, even if you do manage to find something on the photos, there isn't a way to connect it to the apartment?" I ask. My voice sounds tired even to me.

Neither Zeke nor Amar answer that question.

"What do we tell Tris?" asks George.

"We need to know if she's noticed anything suspicious over the last few weeks, and she's going to want to know why we're asking," says Amar, looking at me.

"I'll leave it up to you," I say. "At this point, I don't think it's possible to fix things between us. What's a little more emotional fallout going to hurt?"

There must be something in my tone of voice or my facial expression, because none of them tease me about the bitterness. I wouldn't have tolerated it tonight, and I think all three of them can tell.

"Can you come down to the station and put in a formal statement tomorrow morning?" asks Zeke.

"Sure," I say as I nod my head. "I can be there around nine o'clock. Just, please, don't try to arrange it so I'm there at the same time she is. After tonight, it wouldn't be a good idea."

Zeke nods. "What did she say in the parking lot?"

"What does it matter, Zeke?" I ask. "It's done, and I don't really want to do a postmortem analysis on it."

Zeke holds up his hands, conceding the point. "Mind taking that back to the station, Amar?" he asks as he gestures to the photos. "Shauna's usually pretty accommodating when it comes to work, but it's her birthday and I kind of had some special plans for after dinner."

I gape and watch the tops of Zeke's ears staring to turn pink as he grins.

"Holy shit, boys," says George, drawing out each syllable in a long drawl. "Take stock of this moment. I think Ezekiel Pedrad is actually blushing."

George and Amar laugh. I smile a little, appreciating the humor of it. At least I know that I can still smile at something.

* * *

I swear under my breath the next morning as I pull into the parking lot at the police station and park my truck next to Christina's car. For a moment, I consider coming back in the afternoon. The obsessive masochist in me wins out on the argument, and I climb out of the truck. It won't do either of us any good for me to avoid her at every opportunity. I will be having words with Zeke, though.

Inside the station, I smile at Karen, the flirtatious dispatcher for the day shift. The woman makes my skin crawl, but staying on her good side is advantageous for those times when I need to see Zeke or Amar without having to wait for hours. She practically squeals as I walk in, scolding me for being a stranger and winking at me when she buzzes me through the door when I ask to speak to Amar.

"Not going to invite us back with you?" asks someone behind me. I turn to see Christina sitting in the waiting area with her arms crossed. Tris is sitting next to Christina, elbows on her knees. Tris's expression is inscrutable.

"They're with me, Karen," I say as I point at Christina and Tris.

"Oh," says Karen with a pout that she probably thinks is pretty. "I guess that's okay. Sure, go on back. You know the way!" She winks again and shouts at me to call her sometime since I have her number.

"You have her number?" asks Christina pointedly.

"She gave me her card a while back, wrote her mobile number on the back of it. I burned it later."

"Good," says Christina.

I stop for a minute and turn around to glare at Christina. She waits for a moment with her arms crossed, and then holds up her hands in surrender.

"Can we please just find Amar so I can figure out what he wants and we can get out of here?" asks Tris.

I look back to where she stands, just a little behind Christina. She's looking at the floor, obviously not interested in looking me in the eye this morning. I try to keep my thoughts carefully hidden, but Christina can read body language and micro expressions well enough to see the pain I feel. She puts a hand on my forearm and shakes her head at me. I know that she wants me to back off, so I just turn back around and head for Amar's desk.

Zeke finds us before we run into Amar and he frowns.

"We waited for an hour, Pedrad," says Christina.

"Karen strikes again," I say quietly.

"I'll talk to her," says Zeke. "Again."

"Where's Amar?" I ask.

"Right here," says Amar as he emerges from a conference room with a couple of men I've never seen before. Amar introduces them to us, but I don't really pay attention to their names. He tells them he'll be in touch and turns back to us. "I didn't know you were here, Tris. I told Karen to let me know when you got here."

"Well, she apparently didn't understand what you were saying," Christina grumbles.

"Zeke," says Amar, "could you take Four's statement while I fill Tris and Christina in on last night?"

I watch Tris through the whole conversation. She tilts her head to the side slightly and frowns as she follows Amar into the conference room. I get a small peak inside and I can see the photos from last night posted on the wall at the far end of the room. Tris stops just inside the door and her posture stiffens. I don't see anything else before Amar closes the door.

"Come on," says Zeke. "I've got an audio recorder set up in one of the interview rooms." He leads me down a hall way to a small room, and I know it's one of the ones they use for interviewing people who have been arrested or are being held for questioning. I raise an eyebrow at Zeke. He shrugs. "The other conference room is taken." He doesn't shut the door behind us, which is good for my claustrophobia.

Zeke turns on the recorder and lets me describe how I found the envelope, what I did with it when I found it, and calling him. He asks me a few follow up questions and then turns off the recorder. He sits back in the chair opposite from me and frowns.

"I have a few things to tell you, and you need to promise me that you aren't going to try to break my jaw when you've heard it all."

I frown at him and then sit back in my own chair. "I don't like the sound of that, Zeke."

"You're going to hate me by the end of this conversation. First, the not-terrible news: we didn't pull any prints except yours from the photos or envelope, but your building manager was kind enough to give us copies of the footage from the security cameras in the hall. About three minutes before you got home, someone walked off the elevator, slid the envelope under your door and then continued walking to the other end of the hall to the service stairwell. The man was wearing a hat pulled low over his eyes and was dressed plainly. He's on tape walking out the back door at the same time you come in the front of the building, which officially clears you of any suspicion."

"Really, Zeke?" I glare at him.

"Standard procedure, Four," he says as he holds up his hands as if in surrender. "We rule out every possibility until we come to the only one left. And considering your history with Tris and your relationship with both me and Amar, we had to do things by the book. We never suspected you for a moment, but we have to be objective."

"Thanks for your overwhelming confidence in me," I say, my voice dripping with sarcasm.

"Now for the part that's going to make you hate me," he says. "Detectives Smith and Brown are visiting from Savannah regarding a case back in Georgia that involves Marcus. A woman and her seven-year-old son were found in the Savannah River a while back. Marcus's DNA was a paternal match to the boy's. He apparently moved down there and remarried—" Zeke's voice continues, but I don't hear a word of it because I'm too stunned. I rub my hand over my head.

"Amanda and Thomas are dead?" I ask quietly.

Zeke stops mid-sentence. He blinks at me a few times, his mouth opening a couple times as if he's trying to say something. He finally gives up and asks, "How did you know about them?"

"She reached out to me about two years ago," I say, closing my eyes. "Apparently, Marcus let it slip that Evelyn and I existed just after he started to beat Amanda and Thomas." I open my eyes again and look at Zeke. "She was trying to find a way out, and I invited them here to Chicago about six months ago, even offered to pick them up myself, to get her and Thomas away from Marcus. I haven't heard from her since. She didn't want me to come get her and said she'd call if she decided to come to Chicago, but nothing was ever set in stone. I tried to call her a couple of times before Tris came back, but wasn't able to get through. I called the Savannah police and filed a couple of reports, but never heard anything else."

"Shit," says Zeke. He stands up and paces in front of the table, running his hand through over his head. "How many reports did you file with Savannah?"

"At least three that were actually filed. The detectives finally stopped returning my calls after telling me that they had no record of a Marcus Eaton ever living in the city. Add that to the fact that I've never actually met Amanda in person and couldn't give a physical description, and I'm sure they thought I was a prank caller."

Zeke sighs heavily. "I'm sorry, Four. If you'd told me about them before, I wouldn't have waited to tell you until after I had confirmation on the IDs from Savannah. Did you tell anyone else?"

"Just Evelyn," I say with my own heavy sigh. "Amanda didn't want me to tell anyone. I respected her wishes until I called the police down there to file the first reports."

I clear my throat, then put my elbows on the table and massage my temples with my thumbs. Amanda and I never met. We spoke a handful of times on the phone. She sent a letter to me once with a picture of Thomas, my brother. I never really got to know either of them. Maybe that's why I feel numb. Then again, my life hasn't been this much of an emotional roller coaster in a very long time. It's entirely possible that I'm just on overload.

"What happens from here, Zeke?"

"If we manage to find him, he'll be extradited back to Georgia to stand trial for murder," says a new voice from the other side of the room. I look up and see one of the other detectives; I think his name was Smith. He's short and stocky, thick around the middle from too little exercise. I try not to curl my lip in disgust at him.

"Think you morons will have any better luck making those charges stick than you did keeping him from killing Amanda and Thomas in the first place?" My voice is bitter and angry. "If you assholes had listened to me six months ago, things might have gone very differently."

"Possibly," says Detective Smith. "We'll need a confession. The physical evidence is hard to put together and the case is mostly circumstantial. We've won cases with less and lost cases with more."

"No," says Zeke. "Amar and I have already rejected your recommendation."

"What recommendation?" I ask, looking between Zeke and Smith.

"We need to draw him out, get him to make the confession before he realizes it's being recorded. Best way to do that is to use bait and a hook."

"And we're not putting her in the line of fire, Smith. Forget it. It's not worth the risk."

I grind my jaw. "I'm the hook and Tris is the bait you have in mind."

"Yes," says Smith unapologetically.

"No," says Zeke. "Absolutely not. We will not cooperate with any plans you have to run that kind of operation in Chicago and you don't have the jurisdictional authority to do it on your own."

"I'm not letting Tris anywhere near my father," I say. My voice comes in a low growl. I know that I have no right to make that declaration. She can make her own decisions. But she's not known for making good choices where my father is concerned.

"Isn't that my decision to make?" asks Tris as she comes in and leans a shoulder against the door frame. She raises an eyebrow at me.

"Tris, no," I say. "This isn't the same as it was when you went with him to recover the Prior recording from Erudite. This is much more dangerous, and it's definitely not wise."

"Can the two of you give us a moment to speak in private?" she asks, looking at Zeke. Zeke looks at me and frowns, but he stands up and walks out. Detective Smith leaves the room, closing the door behind them.

I stand up from my chair as they leave, fighting to keep calm in the small room. It's not terribly uncomfortable, but it feels like a cave because there aren't any windows. Claustrophobia is a bitch.

"You can't do this, Tris," I say breathlessly.

"The hell I can't, Tobias," she says. Her eyes are burning with anger. "It's not your decision to make. And if volunteering to be bait will bring him in quicker, then I'm going to do it."

"No," I say as I try to swallow the lump growing in my throat. I cross the room to where she stands and stare down at her. I can't resist the compulsion to touch her, so I place my hand on the back of her neck, thread my fingers in her hair, and run my thumb along her jaw. "He would kill you just to get to me. As hard as it is to not be with you, watching you die a third time would destroy me. Please, for once in your life, think about what it would do to me if you do this."

"Tobias—" she says as she tries to pull away. I tighten my grip and step closer, leaning down to rest my forehead against hers. My eyes drift close and for a moment I just breathe her air, trying to ignore the tightness I feel through my entire body.

"I don't care right now whether or not you feel the same way about me. But I can't live through another day mourning you. I just can't."

Her body stays as tight as a wire for a moment, but she eventually relaxes and places her hand on my waist. My heart leaps into my already too-tight throat. I open my eyes and pull back from her just enough to look at her.

"What about Amanda and Thomas?" she asks. "Don't they deserve justice? How can you ask me to walk away if this will end in his arrest?" She stops for a moment, pulling away from me. "No, Tobias. I won't make you that promise. It's worth the risk."

She opens the door and walks out, taking what remains of my heart with her.

7


	18. Chapter 18

_**Tris**_

I feel the heat and weight of his gaze on my back as Tobias follows me back out to the bullpen. That's what Zeke calls the area where most of the detectives' desks are located. I'll need to become familiar with the terminology around here if I plan to take the position that Chief Waller has offered me once I finish the appropriate training program. That day will be a long time in coming, though. Right now, I need to focus on this day.

My breathing remains steady as I walk and I'm proud of myself for being able to keep my composure. The outward calm helps me feel like I'm not flying to pieces inside. I never feel more unsure of myself than I do around Tobias. I haven't been able to figure out why I feel like I might fall apart at any moment when he's in the room. It's something I don't want to examine too closely yet.

Amar and Zeke are in the conference room talking to Detectives Smith and West. I hear a large portion of the conversation before I actually make it to the room. Zeke is still shouting at Smith about not having the jurisdictional authority to run any operations inside Chicago. I suppress a smile. I've gotten to know Zeke better in the past couple of months because I've been spending time with Shauna and Christina. He's become almost like another older brother. I know most of that is due to his loyalty to Tobias and an obligation he feels toward him to keep me safe. I'm still happy for his friendship even if I don't feel like I need his protection.

"It's not happening, Smith," says Amar. His voice is calmer, like the deadly quiet before a storm, but I can hear the warning in the rumble of his voice.

"You and West can march your happy asses back to Savannah," says Zeke. "We'll call you when we have him in the lockup."

"And just how do you plan on making that happen, Zeke?" I ask as I walk through the door and take a seat at the end of the table nearest the door. Tobias stops just at the doorway and I see him lean against the door frame out of the corner of my eye. "It's been almost two months since Evelyn's home was vandalized. You have no leads. No one's even seen Marcus since he gave Evelyn his number three months ago. You said yourself that we're not going to find him until he wants to be found. And, if I know you as well as I think I've come to know you lately, you're going to put a protective detail on me, anyway. You're going to have to use me as bait, and you know it. You've known it all along. You're just angry that Smith suggested it because you don't want to admit that he's right."

Zeke glares at me but doesn't say anything. Amar looks thoughtful, but I can tell by the tightness in his shoulders that he's not going to be easily swayed. I take a deep breath and blow it out quickly, then turn to the two detectives from Savannah.

"What's your plan?" I ask carefully.

"The best way to draw Eaton out is to make him think that he's having no affect on your boyfriend."

I hold up my hand and interrupt. "Tobias and I aren't seeing one another at this time, Detective Smith." The words stick in my throat and my chest tightens as I say them, but I manage to keep my voice even and controlled.

"Be that as it may," says West before motioning to the pictures pinned on the wall behind him, "Eaton clearly believes that you are, and considering the fact that you've said you haven't noticed anything odd lately, we have to assume that he thinks the best way to get to his son is through you, making Tobias the ultimate target. We can use that to our advantage."

"We'll need you two to appear to be a couple," says Smith. "Go to dinners together, be seen in public together. The more you show that you're ignoring the stalking, the quicker he'll become enraged and the sooner he'll make a more aggressive move. We keep a protective detail on you at all times, your fine friends here in Chicago will expedite concealed carry licenses for both of you, put tracking devices on both of you, install remote-activated listening devices on your phones, and when the time comes, Marcus will substantially underestimate what he's walking into. Tobias, we'll coach you on what we need you to say to get the confession, and when we have it, the arrest can be made."

"And if I don't agree?" asks Tobias behind me. His voice is calm and I know without looking behind me that he's the perfect image of self-control and composure.

"He blames your interference for what happened to Amanda and Thomas," says West. "That's why he's fixated on you. He'll find another way to get to you, probably through your mother or another friend. But first, he'll continue to stalk Ms. Prior because he believes it gives him power over you. And once he no longer has use for her, he'll kill her, anyway. She's the key to this because he thinks he knows just how much she means to you, regardless of whether or not you're involved with one another right now."

"Her life is on the line no matter what you decide," says West. "At least our way, she has a better chance of walking away from this alive because we'll be in more control than we would be if we just wait."

"We could put her in a safe house," says Amar. "We could pack her up and send her out of the city."

"No, Amar," I say as I shake my head firmly. "I've got my own life to live and I will not put it on hold indefinitely because of Marcus. He doesn't get to control me like that, and I'm not letting him drive me out of the city just because he wants to make his son miserable."

"Tris—" says Tobias behind me.

"No," I interrupt as I turn around to face him. "This isn't like it was when I went to Erudite or the weapons lab. This time, I'll have backup, I'll be prepared, and I'll be armed. It won't be me alone. You'll be with me to watch my back."

I hold my breath as I watch him for a reaction. Anyone else looking at him would have missed the subtle clues I see, like the tightness of his shoulders, the darkening of his eyes, or the minute tick of his jaw as he clenches his teeth. To everyone else in the room, his self-possession has never been more perfect. His posture remains casual, his breathing even, and his gaze never waivers from my own. Only I can see the indecision, the rage, and the fear in him.

I'm offering him the only thing that I know might persuade him to agree. He never had the chance to protect me twelve years ago. I took that choice away from him, twice, and I even lied to him about it the first time. I give that choice to him now and I pray that he'll take it.

He nods his head after a moment and I let the breath out that I had been holding. I turn back to Zeke and Amar, giving them both a look until they nod their assent.

"I'll get to work on those concealed carry licenses," grumbles Zeke as he leaves the room. He's not happy, but I don't care about his happiness right now. He'll have to get used to it.

"Are you going to be able to hold a gun?" asks Tobias behind me.

"Yes," I say without looking back at him again. "I already own a hand gun that I've been using at the range with George. My aim is almost as good as it was at the end of initiation." I close my eyes and rub my temples. "I've shot you in my nightmares enough that I don't think drawing it is going to be an issue."

Smith or West must have started to ask for clarification because Amar mumbles at them to not ask.

"I'll be fine, gentlemen," I say as I look back up at them. "It's old water under the bridge. If we're finished here for the day, I'm late for an appointment."

I push back from the table and try to leave the room. I stand in front of Tobias for a few moments. He searches my face before he steps back from the door and lets me pass, but he touches my arm before I'm completely out of his reach. My arm tingles where his skin brushes mine, and I take a sharp breath before looking up at him again. His dark blue eyes are almost black and his Adam's apple bobs up and down as he swallows. He doesn't say anything to me. He just looks at me.

"I'll call you this evening," I say and then I pull away.

* * *

Christina meets me as I cross the bullpen to Zeke's desk. She doesn't ask me any questions as we leave the station.

Late that afternoon, I stand at one end of the training range reserved for the use of the Chicago police department. I'm not technically supposed to be in here, but given my friendship with George, Zeke, and Amar and my understanding with Chief Waller, I have access to a lot of things that would be unavailable to others. After putting on the ear muffs and safety glasses George insists I wear, I pick up the handgun I just loaded.

_Inhale. Aim. Exhale. Fire._

I repeat the mental chant until all eleven rounds in the gun are discharged. While I shoot, I reflect on my morning therapy session. Monica, my therapist, was her usual, charming self, but she wasn't exactly very helpful. Then again, her job, as she says it, is to help me learn how to process what I think and handle how I feel, not to give me an easy step-by-step instruction manual on how to live my life. So, she pushes and she asks me questions to which I don't even know the answers in an attempt to draw my conscious mind to the knowledge in my subconscious. It's absolutely infuriating, especially when I know that she's right about something, like my feelings for Tobias.

The truth is that I love him, deeply. I felt like I was leaving a piece of my soul with him in the hallway after breakfast at the diner six weeks ago. There are two reasons I did it. The first is that I'm terrified that our relationship will just be one long roller coaster ride and that I'll eventually end up breaking under the pressure. The second is that I know that he's still in love with the girl he used to know. I'm not that girl. The principle reason I've stayed away is that I truly am trying to figure out exactly who I am now, and romance will just complicate that journey.

The gun clicks after I fire the last round; I lost count of the rounds I've fired. I set the gun down on the shelf in front of me, flip the hold light switch, and push the button that brings my target back to me at my end of the range. After a careful examination of the spread on the target, I nod my head and pull the paper off the clips, replace it with a fresh target, and push the button again to send it back down the range. With careful and precise movements, I load the magazine again, counting out the eleven new bullets. I flick the switch for the hold light to turn it off, making sure that the "ready" light stays green, then lift the gun again.

_Inhale. Aim. Exhale. Fire._

Monica told me once that I may never remember everything that I've forgotten, that some of the memories would have been lost to time even if I hadn't been abducted and tortured. The important thing is not remembering everything, but keeping my focus on the things that I do remember and learning all I can from them about who I am. It's been nearly three months since Matthew and Caleb rescued me. I still have more questions than answers, but the world hasn't fallen to chaos around me, hasn't dissolved away into another dream, another nightmare, or another simulation. Every morning that I wake, I put my feet on solid ground and feel the weight of reality around me. This world is safe enough that I think I can start slowly making my way back to who I am.

_Inhale. Aim. Exhale. Fire._

Each time a bullet explodes out of the gun, I settle into the familiar rhythm I learned from Tobias so long ago. _Inhale. Aim. Exhale. Fire. _With each round that I put in the target, my shoulders ease back and relax a little more. _Inhale. Aim. Exhale. Fire. _This time, when I flip the hold light and bring my target back, the spread is a little tighter in the center of the target and I smile to myself.

It is moments like this when I start to feel more like the girl I was when I was sixteen. When I can push the world aside and focus on just one thing that I know about myself, I discover that connection to the person I was and pull her closer to me, forward in time to the person I am. Monica first suggested it as a method to integrate my past with the present. It's worked well enough that I keep doing it, hoping that eventually everything will fall into place.

Maybe Monica was right this morning. I remember facts about my past. I remember events, names, places, actions that I took. Integrating it all is still hard, but maybe it's more important for me to discover who I am in this moment, at this point in time, rather than trying to reclaim my previous sense of self.

I don't expect the gentle tap on my shoulder and it startles me. I carefully keep the gun pointed down the range as I look behind me. George grins at me and says something that comes out in a mumble.

"Sorry, what?" I shout as I place the gun back on the shelf in front of me. George reaches up and takes the muffs off my ears.

"I see you still forget about the muffs," he teases.

"Yeah," I say with a wry grin. "I don't think I'll ever get used to the extra equipment, but at least I'm using it." I pull the safety glasses off and set them aside as I turn back to examine the spread on the target.

"Your aim is almost what I'd expect from a fellow former Dauntless," he says.

"Bullshit," I say. "There's nothing wrong with my aim, and you know it."

"How do you explain that one?" he asks as he points at one of my first targets from the day. The first spread I'd shot this morning was significantly lower on the target, and I'd used a full-body length target on purpose for that one.

"I was frustrated with all of the testosterone-induced bullshit I had to wade through this morning." I grin as his color blanches a little bit. "Relax, George. It's just a target. No actual male genitalia were harmed."

"Has anyone told you that you can be almost as scary as Four sometimes?"

"I'll take that as a compliment," I say as I turn back around and start to dismantle the gun for cleaning. "Something on your mind?"

"Not particularly. I just wondered where you were when I couldn't find you upstairs in the gym."

I look down at my watch and realize that I'm almost twenty minutes late for our regular training session.

"Sorry," I mumble. "I'm a little out of sorts today. Kind of happens when Tobias is involved."

"I figured as much," he says as he holds up his mobile phone. "Amar sent me a message and told me everything. I've got some things that I want you to start working on that might help if things get ugly."

"You know, you're the only person besides the two detectives from Savannah who is actually trying to be useful about this little operation. Thank you, George."

"You're welcome," he says with a smile. "Regardless of what the others think, I know you'll be able to hold your own."

"Thanks," I say with a nod as I start cleaning the residue out of the barrel of the gun. "I'll be up in a minute."

"I know you will, but I want you to answer a couple of questions first."

I narrow my eyes at him.

"Why are you really agreeing to this?"

I turn back to cleaning the gun before I answer, carefully considering what I might say. In the end, I come up with four answers.

"Because Marcus needs to pay for all of the damage he's done. Because Amanda and Thomas deserve justice. Because Tobias and Evelyn don't deserve to be controlled by him another second. Because it's the right thing to do."

"All good answers. But not the one I'm looking for."

"And that would be?"

"Uh-uh," George says as he shrugs his shoulders at me. "You need to be the one to realize it, if you haven't already."

"I don't know what you're talking about, George."

"Fine," he says. "I'll be blunt. Tell me this isn't another attempt at martyrdom."

"Why do people keep asking me that?" I throw up my hands in exasperation. "I don't have a death wish. I'm quite happy being alive, and I intend to stay that way. But I'm not going to sit on my hands waiting for Marcus to come after me, I'm not going to hide away from him, and I'm definitely not going to let him win."

"Alright, alright," George says, holding up his hands. "Then we'll just have to make sure you're ready when the time comes."

After I finish cleaning my gun, I meet George upstairs in the gym. He moves away from the typical sparring and bag exercises he's been working me through for the past couple of weeks and teaches me some new techniques for self defense. Most of it comes from various forms of martial arts, and we concentrate on the ones that are most helpful for a person of smaller stature defending against someone taller and heavier. It's a sound theory, since Marcus is a couple of inches taller than Tobias, if I remember correctly. But the new techniques are difficult and learning how to redirect another person's physical momentum is not as easy as it sounds. After about forty minutes, I'm frustrated with my lack of progress, exhausted from the exertion, and dripping with sweat.

"That's good enough for now," says George, just when I've finally managed to throw him over my shoulder for the first time. "Cool down a bit on the treadmill and then stretch it out. I don't want your physical therapist to kill me for making you overdo it."

I nod at him and head to the row of treadmills not too far away, pulling my phone and headset out of my bag on the way. Setting the machine for a steady walking pace, I put the headset on and thumb through some of the music that Christina loaded on my phone. My favorite track is a five-minute instrumental piece with a good beat and the tempo is perfect for walking a cool down, so I pick it and hit the play button. I know it's not smart, but I make sure the treadmill's safety clip is attached to my shirt and close my eyes as I settle into my stride for the duration of the track. I like the feeling I have after a good workout. I feel stronger, more powerful, more in control.

_I feel more like me._

I smile at that thought and then open my eyes and nearly choke when I see Tobias against the wall in front of the treadmill. He's frowning at me, probably because I was walking on the treadmill with my eyes closed. I grimace as I step on the side rails, turn off the machine, and remove the safety clip and my headset.

"If you're trying to convince everyone that you've gained a healthy respect for the value of your own life, closing your eyes on the treadmill isn't the best way to do it, Tris."

"I guess I just got lost in the moment," I say as I turn away from the machine. "Some people take things like that for granted."

He wraps his fingers around my upper arm as he pulls me to a stop. His grip is steady but relaxed. I turn around to face him.

"Did you need something, Tobias?" I ask. I'm careful to keep my voice calm.

"I just have one question for you," he says. He's being just as careful. "Are you interested in a real relationship or will you just be pretending?"

"Tobias, I—"

"No, Tris," he says quickly. "I'll do this either way, but I know exactly where I want things to go between us. If you're not on the same page, I need to know sooner rather than later."

I look into his eyes and realize just exactly how careful he's being. He's closed off his expression so well that even I can't tell what he's thinking.

The truth is that I've never wanted to be separated from him, but I meant what I said last night. I'm not the same person he fell in love with, the person he's put on a pedestal for the last twelve years. I'm getting closer and closer to understanding who that person was, but even after that understanding is complete, I'm not sure that I'll be what he wants me to be, if I ever was in the first place. I can only hope that maybe, someday, he'll fall in love with me and let go of my ghost.

"I don't know," I say. His mouth draws down into a frown. "Honestly, I don't. Can we just take things a day at a time and see where it may lead?"

He nods at me and lets my arm go.

"Can you wait around for a while?" he asks. "I can take you to get dinner and then drop you off at Christina's apartment before I go home."

I consider for a moment whether it would be a good idea. In the end, I decide that getting the ball rolling now might not be a bad idea.

"Sure," I say. "I'm going to go clean up."

"Okay," he says as he walks across the room to wrap his knuckles.


	19. Chapter 19

The gym has a sort of a waiting area on the other side of the check-in counter. I'm pretty sure that most hospital waiting rooms are more comfortable, but I settle into one of the hard plastic chairs and pull my pad out of my bag when I emerge from the women's locker room to find that Tobias is still sparring with Amar. I honestly do make an attempt at studying for a standardized test that's an entrance requirement for the universities that I've been considering, but I'm too easily distracted by the two men across the room.

This fight is nothing like the ones that were part of Dauntless initiation. It's obvious that neither of them is trying to hurt the other. The mock fight is more about technique and routine than it is about beating the shit out of the opponent. As they circle one another, trading light blows and banter, it looks more like a dance than a fight. Granted, it's a dance in which one or the other of them ends up on the ground every once in a while, but it's still almost elegant. There is no desperation, no malice, no struggle for survival in any of the movements. I can tell that Tobias and Amar share an easy camaraderie that is built on years of friendship with one another.

But it isn't just the activity between them that draws my attention. I have to admit, even if just to myself, that the real reason I can't concentrate on my studying is that I can't tear my eyes away from Tobias. The only times I ever remember having an opportunity to see him in action were times when I was a little distracted trying to keep myself alive. Now that I can sit back and really watch him, I'm practically panting. Even under the baggy t-shirt and gym shorts, his body is amazing. His waist is almost too slender for his height, something that I have a feeling is more my fault than not, and his broad shoulders are well-built and strong. The muscles of his arms are defined but not bulging. As he takes another swing at Amar, his arm and neck ripple, and it's almost like time slows so I can really study the expansion and contraction of each muscle group. For a moment, I wish he wasn't wearing his shirt, because I want to see his chest, abs, and back, too.

I always knew he was strong, that he worked hard to stay that way, but I feel like I never really had the opportunity to fully appreciate what that means. Right now, it means that I need another shower, a cold one this time. A fresh pair of underwear might be a good idea, at the very least. I'm certain the ones I'm wearing are soaked from more than just the summer heat.

Tobias and Amar must have reached some predetermined stopping point, because they both put their hands down. Zeke noticed my rapt attention, because he says something to Tobias, who turns and looks at me. I look right into his eyes, but not before I catch the smirk on his lips. I raise an eyebrow at him and he shrugs his shoulders. Zeke's shoulders shake with his laughter and his voice carries across the gym as he teases us both before they all make their way to the men's locker room. I grin and shake my head, blushing because I feel like a child who was caught with her hand in the cookie jar.

Twenty minutes later, Tobias emerges from the locker room with his gym bag in one hand. I look up from my pad, which has managed to keep my attention since he's been out of sight, and feel the blush creeping back into my cheeks. He smirks at me again, making things even more awkward for me. I should have sat in a chair that would put my back to the main part of the gym. I let myself get swept away in lust and it's going to complicate matters in the long run, of that I am sure.

He doesn't say anything as I pack my pad back into my bag and then opens the door for me. I walk beside him to his truck in the parking lot and I expect him to walk around to the passenger door to help me climb into the cab, because he still hasn't had the running boards installed. Instead, he tosses his bag into the back seat and asks me for mine. I raise my eyebrow at him.

"If you're up to walking, there's a little deli about a block away that I normally like to visit if I eat out on nights like this."

I don't say anything else as I hand him my bag. He gently places it beside his own, and then shuts the door. We settle into a strained silence as we walk, all the tension and awkwardness of the day rushing back between us as if I hadn't just spent at least twenty minutes openly ogling him at the gym. He doesn't touch me as we walk and makes no attempt to hold my hand. He keeps a careful distance, and I don't know whether I'm more frustrated or relieved. I put my own hands in my pockets, just because I feel like I have to do something with them besides let them swing at my sides.

The deli isn't too far away from the gym, just like he promised. The place isn't much to look at. There are a few tables outside on the sidewalk and the deli itself is just a small storefront with a counter, overhead menu board, and cash register. I tease Tobias about knowing all the good hole-in-the-wall restaurants in town. Just like at the diner, I have no idea what sounds good because I'm too nervous. He asks me if I trust him to order, and I nod my assent. This time, he orders a chicken salad sandwich and steak fries for me and a Reuben on rye with chips for himself. I raise an eyebrow at him.

"Hey, the chicken salad is this guy's specialty. Don't knock it until you try it."

"Okay, then, I'll try it," I say as I smile and hold up my hands in mock surrender.

My smile falls when Tobias turns around and picks a table outside, putting down our drinks. I sit across from him and carefully avoid looking him in the eye as I take a sip of my drink. He clears his throat as I fidget with the hem of my shirt on my lap. It is only now that I realize that I have no idea what to say to him. We just sit there for a while, the awkward silence stretching painfully between us.

It seems like an eternity before the girl at the counter calls out our number. Tobias fetches the tray holding our food and brings it to the table. The sandwich looks delicious and I'm sure it's flavor is divine, but my appetite is ruined. I pick at the fries, dipping them in something I recognize as the red sauce we used to have in the Dauntless cafeteria. I look up for just a second as I gnaw on the fried wedge of potato and notice that Tobias is picking at his food, too. I smirk at him.

"Looks like neither of us is very hungry," I say.

"Guess not," he says dryly. I'm not surprised to find that he is carefully concealing what he's feeling from me.

"What are you thinking, Tobias?"

He doesn't answer right away. He just sits there, his expression inscrutable. It hurts me to see that he's being so very careful around me. He used to trust me with his heart, to let me see the depths to which his feelings run. Then again, I haven't given him much reason to extend that trust, lately.

"It doesn't matter right now, Tris," he says as he turns back to his sandwich.

"Actually, it does. You're the one who wants full disclosure between the two of us. I've been honest with you about my intentions. It's your turn."

"Fine." He puts down his sandwich and finishes chewing the bite he just took, swallowing quickly. "I was just wondering if anything is going to be different with you. I know that your recklessness isn't fueled by guilt, because it wasn't guilt that put you in the weapons lab at the Bureau. I'm not going to pretend that I understand why you did it. All I know is that you chose to give up your life the very afternoon after we had sex for the first time. And now you've volunteered to serve yourself up on a silver platter to Marcus after demanding that I let him go. I guess I was just hoping that maybe, even if you don't care enough about yourself to keep from risking your own life needlessly, you'd at least consider how much you matter to the people around you, to me most of all."

I rub the bridge of my nose. It's the same old fight, undiminished in its pain and intensity by the time that has passed. Some parts of my memory may always be incomplete, but this isn't one of them. I sigh and look back up at him.

"I'm not interested in revisiting a nearly thirteen-year-old argument, Tobias. I seriously doubt you want me to throw your abandonment issues in your face."

"My abandonment issues?" he scoffs. "That's a bit rich coming from one of the women who made sure I developed those particular issues." He shakes his head. "Am I ever going to be enough for you? I know you don't value your life very highly for your own sake, but are you ever going to consider the damage you'll do to me if you actually succeed in getting yourself killed someday?"

"You survived it once," I say quietly, trying to soften the blow of my words as much as possible, "just like I always knew you would. You moved on, did what you had to do to make something of your life."

He looks down at his sandwich, clenching his jaw as his self-possession slips a little. When he looks back up at me, his eyes hold a sorrow that I'm sure will cut me to the bone like a blade.

"I didn't move on, Tris." His voice sounds strangled, as if the words are catching in his throat on their way out. "I couldn't. Sure, I managed to build a life that works for me. After a few years, it didn't hurt as much. But even when Zeke managed to convince me to start dating again, I couldn't love anyone who wasn't you. I tried," he swallows hard. "I tried, but it never worked. I just figured out a way to live with the pain."

"Why, Tobias?" I ask as I fight to keep from squirming in my chair. "Why did you get so hung up on me? There's nothing remarkable or extraordinary about me, and there never was, no matter what you've ever believed. A genetic quirk makes me resistant to the serums the Bureau concocted to keep their human guinea pigs in line. That's it. Why did I become so important to you that you've refused to move on?"

His sorrow from a moment ago gives way to weariness in both his eyes and his voice as he answers me.

"No one has ever captured my attention like you did, like you still do. There's always been something about you that's been more real, more alive than anyone else I've ever known. It's what drew my attention when I pulled you out of the net on Choosing Day. Your determination during initiation was like a fire that I couldn't resist stoking. I still see that fire in your eyes in the few times you've allowed me to be alone with you in the last couple of months. I don't know exactly when it was that I fell in love with you, but it's real, even if it is first love. And no one else since has ever been able to compare."

I shake my head at him, but I don't respond because I can't think of anything else to say. We finish the meal in awkward silence and load our trash and plastic baskets back onto the tray. Tobias takes the tray back inside to dispose of the waste and I sit at the table to wait as he chats for a few moments with the girl at the counter. I look down at my hands in my lap, my fingers fidgeting with the hem of my shirt.

The reasons he gave for not getting over me make sense. Maybe we would have stayed together if I hadn't taken Caleb's place at the Bureau. It's entirely possible that we are each other's one and only, that no one else will ever compare to Tobias for me just as no one else has ever compared to me for him.

My thoughts stray to Jason, the guy Shauna introduced me to when I visited her office a couple of weeks ago to pick something up for Christina. My lip curls up in disgust all on its own. He's insecure and weak, a preening peacock who is as shallow as he is good-looking. Christina summed it up quite nicely last night at Shauna's party: he's got a gorgeous face and a body that most women only dream about touching, but there's nothing beneath all of the pretty packaging. She didn't even think he was a good rebound lay because of his attitude. He'll never measure up to Tobias.

Tobias and I endured and experienced so much together, things that changed us and shaped us in ways that don't happen to a whole lot of people. No one else would ever understand those things except the two of us. Those experiences bound us together then, and I can still feel that connection between us, even if I don't remember every detail of our history with one another. I know that we were both changed and sharpened as individuals, like steel tempered in the fires of war and revolution. I've never considered whether that tempering might have extended to our relationship with one another, that the very things that held us together, that still hold us together, were strengthened by it.

"Can I ask you what you're thinking?" Tobias asks, his voice close to my ear.

I blink, startled out of my thoughts and back into the real world. I hadn't even noticed him coming back out of the deli and sitting down next to me. It's a good thing he wasn't too far away while he was inside the deli, because I had become completely unaware of the world around me, which is a dangerous thing when you're being stalked.

"Sorry," I mumble, letting go of the hem of my shirt. I shake my head at him. "I'm just mulling some things over."

I don't miss the tick of his jaw as he grinds his teeth.

_Right. Full disclosure._

"Really, Tobias, I was just thinking about what you said."

"Did you come to any particular conclusions?"

He's like a dog worrying a bone and I know better than to ask him to let it go. I also know better than to lie to him, so I take a deep breath.

"I was just speculating on the effects of war on relationships being similar to those on individual people." I hope that will be enough to satisfy him, but he doesn't reply. He just sits there, waiting for me to continue, his thoughts and emotions carefully concealed again beneath all of his control and self-possession. "I know we'll never be able to try to start over again as if nothing ever happened. There's too much history between us for that kind of fresh start. We both also have a lot of issues to work through, obviously, for either one of us to commit to something permanent right now. I meant what I said earlier about wanting to take this one day at a time, one step at a time, to see how things go."

He nods at me. "I can agree to that."

He stands up from his chair and holds out his hand to me, palm down. I tangle my fingers with his and he pulls me to stand. We walk hand-in-hand back to his truck and he helps me climb up into the passenger seat. I grumble about the lack of running boards. He chuckles at me, a low rumbling sound that feels like it vibrates down to my toes.

"They're on back order."

"Oh," I say. "Well, in that case, I won't hold it against you."

He just laughs at me as he closes the door and walks around to his side. By the time he turns the truck on, I'm sweating in the summer heat that's intensified inside the truck's cabin. Thankfully, he rolls down the windows to let the hot air out and turns on the air conditioner to let it cool down a little. By the time he rolls the windows up, enough sweat has gathered on my skin that the cold air blowing on it makes me shiver. When I turn to Tobias, he's frowning as he looks in the rear-view mirror.

"What is it?" I ask.

"Call Zeke," he says. "Don't look back, but there's someone following us and I want to make sure it's the officer he assigned to follow you. Tell him it's a white sedan. I can't make out the driver, but it looks like a male."

I dial Zeke's number quickly, fighting every instinct to turn around in my seat and look at the car. When Zeke answers, I give him a brief description of the car and Tobias gives me the number off the front license plate. I'm impressed that he can read it backward.

"Yeah, it's ours," says Zeke. "That's Frankie's unmarked vehicle. Tell Four I'm sorry. I should have told him about it."

"Thanks, Zeke," I say, breathing a sigh of relief before I hang up the line. I pass along the message and Tobias relaxes visibly. He'd been gripping the steering wheel so tight that his knuckles were white. I unbuckle my seat belt and scoot as close to him as I can on the bench seat and touch his shoulder.

"Hey," I say as he jumps a little bit. I reach up and rub the back of his neck. "It's okay. We're safe."

Tobias nods his head. "I know," he says, his voice a little shaky. "Tris, do me a favor and use the seat belt. There's one for the middle, if you want to stay there."

I raise an eyebrow at him. "Do you want me to move?"

"I thought you were the one who had intimacy issues."

"It's been a long time since I overcame them. I think I left them on that couch at the Bureau."

He laughs, a cross between a scoff and a chuckle. "I'd really like it if you stayed where you are, but only if you use the seat belt."

I roll my eyes, but strap myself in. "Better?"

"Thank you," he says. We're stopped at a light so he takes my hand and squeezes it gently. The light turns green and he puts his hand back on the steering wheel. I don't know what else to do with myself, so I lean my shoulder against his and let the silence linger all the way back to Christina's apartment.

7


End file.
